


Made Of Thunder And Dependencies

by LyingMonsters



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1980s, 80's Music, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst, Coming of Age, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Hetabang 2020, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Piercings, Punk Rock, References to David Bowie, Rock Stars, Synesthesia, Tattoos, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Familial Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23370421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: The eighties in America come in with rock music, with big names and bigger dreams. Gilbert wants to be a rockstar, Feliciano wants to become an artist, and Ludwig just wants to make his brother proud, no matter what it takes.
Relationships: Germany & Prussia (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Hetabang 2020. Credit to a wonderful friend of mine for the title.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He took it all too far, but boy could he play guitar..."  
> -David Bowie, in Ziggy Stardust

Ludwig was ten years old the first time Gilbert handed him a pair of drumsticks and sat him down behind the old set of drums. He didn't understand music then, or the smiles Francis and Antonio and his brother shared as they watched him. All he understood was the wild, heady feeling he got from making the whole world light up with sound.

There was a deep, heart-pounding rhythm to all of it, and he followed, losing himself to the shimmering bassline inside his head. For a glorious second, he found it, and everything else disappeared as the ends of the notes curled up into perfect lines. The rush rattled through his bones.

He was broken from it by his brother's pale hands stilling his. Gilbert looked down at him with a broad smile, his voice the same elusive, shimmering tone as the music.

'I knew you'd do good, baby brother.' He picked Ludwig up and twirled him around, laughing. Ludwig was still lost in his blurry thoughts, but held onto his big brother's steady shoulders and let the world spin into streaks of colour and sound and nothing else.

 _Gonna have the whole world_ , Gilbert told him after his friends were gone, grinning and delighted with himself. Ludwig was delighted with him, too, because Gilbert was the best person he knew, and his head was full of numbers and designs that spoke to him like music had to Ludwig. He had so much _brilliance_ that he believed he could take on the whole world, sink his teeth in and bring it back.

Gilbert was his _hero_. Ludwig wanted to tell everyone that his big brother was going to college, but Gilbert told him to be quiet with his pride.

'No bragging, baby brother,' he said, affection gleaming silvery bright in his eyes, ruffling his hair. 'It's not a good look on you. Head up, shoulders back, _that's_ right- just hold yourself like you're already ruling the world. We'll make a name for us yet.'

Their little family was still a new thread in the shining fabric of America, a new name in the rosters, fresh out of divided Europe. _Everything is better in America_ , Gilbert had promised. _Bigger, at least. Braver_.

 _Braver_ meant that Gilbert could sneak out late at night when their mother was asleep and ride downtown on the old motorbike he'd salvaged and repaired. Ludwig caught him one night, jolted awake by the rumble of the engine, and Gilbert had waved and grinned, pointing down the streets to downtown. He'd come back early that morning looking so desperately _alive_.

'I want to go with you,' he'd declared, stepping in front of him two afternoons and a good deal of wide-open imagining later.

'Go where?' Gilbert asked, all innocent-like as if he didn't still have paint in the dip of his throat.

'Wherever you are.'

'Wherever I am, huh?' Gilbert laughed and scooped him up, seventeen years old and lanky and wiry, strong enough to throw Ludwig over his shoulder and spin him around. 'That's sweet of you, Lutzy.'

'Take me downtown with you,' Ludwig pleaded, still dizzy from spinning.

'Fine, fine. But you gotta promise me you won't tell our mother, okay?' He scrubbed a hand through Ludwig's hair, and he didn't even mind, grinning too hard. 'Breathe a _word_ and our deal is off.'

'I won't tell,' he promised. Gilbert grinned back.

'Good man.'

That night, Gilbert shouted he was going out for milk and swung Ludwig up on the back of his bike. He insisted on buckling a bulky old helmet over his head, which deadened the wonderful rushing noise and fell down over his eyes.

'I'm _not_ going to be responsible for you hurting yourself,' Gilbert said sternly. 'I don't ever want to have to clean your blood off my hands. You have to hold on tight to me. Both hands.'

'You don't use both hands, why do I have to?'

'That's because I'm me and you're my baby brother. Once you're seventeen, you'll understand.'

Before Ludwig could argue, he gunned the engine and they were roaring off, wind in their faces and the engine purring under them, Ludwig's heart hammering at his fingertips and in his throat like a drum beat. Gilbert laughed, white hair like a sunburst against the dusk.

'How's that?' he asked, glancing back. Ludwig tipped his head up and breathed in the scent of rain on the horizon and hot asphalt and night.

' _Faster_ ,' he hissed in a voice that sounded nothing and everything like his, like he was braver and more like his brother. Gilbert twisted the throttle and the wind pulled at their hands and clothes and everything was as it should be.

All too soon, they skidded to a stop under a flashing neon sign. Gilbert had to help him off the cycle since his legs felt shaky.

'I can't bring you to my regular places,' he said. In the glimmer of downtown, his skin was a thousand and one colours, like a human supernova.

'Why not?'

'It's not for you.' A pause, where he eyed him as if weighing everything that made up Ludwig. 'Too young.'

'That's not fair.'

'Nothing's fair, baby brother.' Tension suddenly fluttered through his jaw. 'Nothing will be fair until everyone's got their proper rights, goddamnit.'

Ludwig blinked up at him, unsure. His brother seemed to have transformed into a completely different person in those seconds.

'Gilbert?'

He shook himself off, and took Ludwig's hand. His own hand was burned around the fingertips and calloused on the knuckles and Ludwig knew it better than his own.

'Come on,' he said, his usual smile returned, but with a hint of steel behind the teeth. 'I know a place that you'll like.'

He was right. The restaurant was tiny with tables crammed up to the walls, but it was warm and crowded and the music had a deep, persistent beat. Gilbert pointed him to a table, pushed a milkshake into his hands, and held up a coin.

'Wait here,' he said. 'You'll enjoy this.'

Before long, the song clicked over and a voice crooned out, heavy and beautiful. Ludwig drummed his fingers on the varnished table in time, wishing he had his drumsticks. He'd snuck down to practice a few more times, teaching himself what the sheet music wanted.

'You like it?' a man at the table across the aisle asked. He had warm eyes and a warmer Cuban accent. 'It's Bowie.'

Ludwig just nodded, a little awed. The man glanced up at Gilbert, returning from the jukebox, and his expression broadened into a smile.

'I should have expected you, Beilschmidt. Who's this?'

'Ludwig. My brother.' He slid into the cracked vinyl seat across from him. 'You like the song?'

'Yes!'

'Good to see you inherited an ounce of taste,' Gilbert ribbed, but he looked alight with a fervor Ludwig had never seen. 'He's brilliant, Bowie. Listen, _shh_ , this is my favourite. _Ziggy Stardust_.'

 _He took it all too far but boy could he play guitar_ , the jukebox crooned through scratchy speakers. Ludwig closed his eyes and sank into the shining colours and shades of the music. He could hear the Cuban leaning forward to talk quietly with his brother again, but it didn't make any sense.

'Are you coming in for the next meeting?'

''Course I am. It's important.'

'What about your friends? We need them to-'

Gilbert suddenly shushed him. 'Not in front of my brother.'

'Why?' Ludwig demanded, surfacing from the music. 'What can't you talk about in front of me?'

'It's about when I go to college,' Gilbert said. The other man opened his mouth and he shot him a sharp look before standing up. 'Are you done your milkshake? I've got another place you should see.'

Gilbert looked as enthusiastic as a kid on Christmas, and so Ludwig had expected a place a lot better than a dusty, cramped pawn shop. Gilbert went directly for the back wall and reverently picked up a battered black guitar.

'It's a Rickenbacker,' he said, running hands over the body. 'Isn't she pretty?'

Ludwig agreed. 'Can you play?'

'I've been practicing. Antonio has one.' He picked out a few chords, working through the melody of _Ziggy Stardust_. He looked peaceful and nearly angelic in the dusty light, and the quiet music wrapped them both up.

A man pushed through a curtain and raised his eyebrows. Gilbert opened his eyes and smiled back.

'Sorry, sir. I had to show my baby brother this.'

'I don't mind,' he said warmly. He turned to Ludwig. 'I've heard quite a bit about you from your brother. Are you interested in the guitar, too?'

'I'm okay on the drums.'

'Better than okay, according to him,' he said, eyes crinkling, nodding at Gilbert.

'Once he's tall enough to reach everything without sitting on a phonebook, he'll be great.' Gilbert reverently set down the guitar and pushed a hand through Ludwig's hair. 'Thanks for letting me come in again, sir. Ready to go?'

The sun was low enough that the city was blinding gold and red. Ludwig stopped to look, squinting into the clouds.

'Come here,' Gilbert told him, beckoning with a lazy hand. He was swinging a cheap Polaroid by the strap from one finger, the black plastic striking against his pale skin. 'I want a memory of this.'

'Where'd you get that?'

'Francis gave me it as a present.' He smoothed Ludwig's hair down and knelt down. 'Smile for me?'

He was too surprised to, and the camera clicked regardless. Gilbert examined the photo and chuckled.

'Pretty good.'

'I don't look good,' Ludwig complained furiously.

'Don't be ridiculous. With your eyes? The girls will be all over you once you grow up a little.' He stood, holding out a hand, expression curiously flinty. Ludwig took it. Something in him protested at the idea, but he didn't say so. Gilbert examined him, eyes piercing down to his core, and snorted softly as if confirming something.

'I want to see where you go,' Ludwig reminded him.

'It's not for you. I told you that.' Gilbert strapped him into the helmet. 'With any luck, you'll never have reason to be there.'

'What is it? A jail?'

'No. Not yet.' He lifted him onto the cycle. 'Come on, I gotta get you home in time or our mother will know what's up.'

The ride back home was just as exhilarating, and Ludwig closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of flying. They stopped by a corner store to pick up a quart of milk, and Gilbert grinned at their mother as he handed it over, glowing and easy. Ludwig could see that she knew they had been out, and before he could get too worried, she laughed and gathered Gilbert into her arms, his pale, bony body an odd contrast to hers.

'Did you two have fun?' she teased.

'Of course we did. Ludwig's got a lot of talent.'

'I know that,' she said warmly.

Ludwig could see her in his cheekbones and the light in his eyes. The lamplight of the kitchen gilded them both the same bronze, and Ludwig had to run over and hug them both as best he could, burying his face in the soft, worn fabric of their mother's dress and Gilbert's ragged dark jeans.

'I love you both,' he said fiercely. Gilbert laughed and picked him up, hefting him with a grunt onto his hip so he could nuzzle his hair, the constant bloodthirsty hunger in his voice softened.

'Love you too, Lutzy.' He shook his head affectionately. 'God, you two make me soft.'

Ludwig just smiled. He was glad Gilbert could still pick him up. His brother rocked him slowly, and even though Ludwig knew he was too old for that, he wanted it to last a little longer.

'Stay by me,' he murmured.

'You know I will.'

'Promise?'

Gilbert chuckled softly and kissed his hair where it stuck up like bird down at the back. 'Yeah. I promise, baby brother. Always.'

He suddenly heaved him back down and reached over to turn up the radio. A familiar song poured out, shimmering in the bronze.

'It's Bowie,' he said, nearly apologetic, the way he only got to their mother.

'Well, that explains it,' their mother said affectionately. Gilbert's eyes lit with mischief and he bowed, extending a hand and affecting a polished accent. It sounded all wrong in his rough voice. Ludwig loved it.

'May I have this dance with you both?' he asked. His lanky body would have had a strange elegance if it wasn't ruined by his feral smile.

They spun and swayed in the moonlight, Gilbert crooning the lyrics. For a moment they all forgot about an unknowing future and Gilbert growing so fast in too many ways, his threadbare shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, and Ludwig was perfectly content. Here, with his family, nothing would go wrong.

0o0o0o

The world, Ludwig learned, wasn't really like that. That night out and their dance in the kitchen was the last time he heard Gilbert laugh properly for a long, long time.

Gilbert was leaving for college. There was a good school two cities down that did mechanics and other trades. Ludwig didn't want to admit his fears when Gilbert drove him and their mother down to show him the place. It was huge and hulking and what scared Ludwig most was how seamlessly Gilbert already fit into the landscape.

'Promise you'll write,' Ludwig insisted. 'And visit.'

'Every weekend.' He glanced up at the bricks. 'Or as often as I can. How's that?'

It was all he was going to get. Ludwig nodded and straightened his shoulders. Their mother hugged him tightly.

'Don't make too much trouble,' she warned. Gilbert shrugged with a smile.

'The world is changing and I'm in the middle of it.' He gripped Ludwig's shoulder. 'Come check this out, baby brother.'

Ludwig obediently followed, already knowing the false lightheartedness in his tone. Gilbert waved to a few people on the campus before stopping him out of earshot of their mother.

'You're going to be alright,' he said. It wasn't a question; it was a hard order. 'You're a good kid, Lutz, you're my brother. You're going to be strong.'

He nodded again, intensely aware of his brother's critical gaze on his posture. He couldn't meet his fierce eyes. 'I will.'

'What's wrong?' His rough hand brushed his cheek, voice soft and indulgent again. 'Are you scared?'

Ludwig hesitated. He didn't want to say so, it would feel weak- it would _be_ weak, and he couldn't forgive that in himself. He forced himself to meet his eyes, taking in the starved lines, the dark leather jacket that he and their mother had given him for a going-away present.

'No,' he lied. Gilbert nodded, proud, proud of him. Some small tension in his chest released, allowing him to breathe.

'Good man,' he said. He knelt and unlooped a chain from under his faded shirt, settling it over Ludwig's neck. 'Here. I wanted to give you this to remember me.'

He gripped the worn and polished smooth cross in surprise. It had been his brother's last remnant of religion.

'This is yours,' was all he could say. Gilbert's eyes lingered on the necklace for a moment longer, and then he shook his head as if pushing it away.

'I gave it up.' He pulled a new necklace from under his shirt and let it hang free. It had a small yellow cartoon bird charm on it. 'Plus, I got myself a new one.'

Ludwig studied his smile with unease, squinting against the light. There was an odd brittle harshness to it.

'It's good,' he said. Gilbert dropped the bird and helped him tuck the cross under his shirt.

'Be good for our mother, okay?' he said. 'Promise me that.'

'I promise.'

'Good. I'll be back before you know it, baby brother.' He stood up, adjusting the scuffed leather jacket, and walked out into the sun. Ludwig watched him go, a quiet pain growing within him the further he went, like there were threads wound around him drawing tight, stitches finally pulled taut.

He turned before Gilbert was out of sight. The drive back home was too quiet, one third or more of the car filled only by a yawning emptiness. Ludwig felt the same way.

0o0o0o

Gilbert sent letters full of praise and ideas, photos of him surrounded with life, spilling out his spiky red-inked words like he thought he'd outlive the stars.

But not everything lasted, and the world had a habit of biting back hard. Gilbert never could stop fighting, so proud of his own sharp-toothed brilliance and all his ideas about how the world could be designed and the buildings they'd raise as monuments to their own humanity.

The first disciplinary report came three months in. Ludwig heard his mother sighing over it in the kitchen, her eyes crinkling in the corners with sadness. He stole it while she slept and puzzled out the words. _Inciting fights...dangerous rhetoric. Radical activist_.

Gilbert told a different story. If you listened to him, he was a hero. Ludwig had always listened to his big brother. Still, his bitterness clawed through in his letters, away from their mother's eyes. _Who's gonna listen to a street kid with all the wrong opinions, baby brother?_ Ludwig could almost hear him laugh, though his eyes would go hard and flint-sharp. _Who's gonna listen when it's someone like me_.

 _Someone like me_ , Ludwig learned after sneaking newspapers and catching moments of the news on TVs downtown, was someone who wore their hair spiked and who had all the wrong opinions and loved too much and too fast, who wouldn't hesitate to stand up and shout. He wanted to be like that because Gilbert was like that, but he was scared, too scared of accusing eyes and words. _Someone like Gilbert_ wasn't scared.

Sometimes Gilbert visited. More often than not he didn't.

Things had changed, but his brother still had that soft look in his eyes when he looked at him, still ruffled his hair even though Ludwig was too old for that.

One night Gilbert took him outside to watch the comets streak by. The mosquitoes were thick and the soda in his hands was sticky and warm. Gilbert's lean, starved body next to him radiated heat. Ludwig felt two years more gangly but no less awkward and shy and young.

'You're studying hard, baby brother?' He always asked. Ludwig would always answer the same way.

'Of course.'

'Good man. You can get something better out of this tiny American town. You've got so much talent. I don't want to see that wasted.'

Ludwig couldn't see that talent inside him, only a deep hollowness that only softened when Gilbert was around to look at him with pride again. It was close enough. Studying made their mother happy and anything that made her happy was worth it, because it held the past together with the newness of Gilbert at college. He'd do anything that made her stop looking so sad every time Gilbert came home ranting and stumbling (drunk, Ludwig learned not so very much later).

Gilbert had a proud, fierce look in his eyes whenever he saw Ludwig by his old drum set. So Ludwig taught himself everything he could with salvaged papers, and Antonio and Francis and Gilbert all smiled like they used to when they watched him. It made things better, and it made _him_ better.

Gilbert spoke about _someone_ in his letters, a musician, a _spoiled princess trust fund boy_ , or so he spat, every word seething fire and something Ludwig didn't understand. _Enough money to fund a revolution and won't do anything with it_.

He showed their mother one of the letters and the lines around her eyes deepened. She traced the spiky ink, every word, every stroke of the pen, and disappeared into her study. After that, Gilbert stopped talking about his musician. Ludwig felt like he'd done something wrong again, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Everything was always changing too fast, and no matter what he did, it never felt good enough. He felt like half a person without Gilbert to show him what to do.

He stayed by his mother, leaning into her strength, teaching himself how to bake and work out, building up the pieces to see which parts of her made up Gilbert and him.

One night he watched the older boys in the streets, sitting on his front porch with the concrete chill seeping through his jeans and a warm soda in his hands, hair combed back in the way he was just starting to wear it. He watched them with their glittering bird eyes, the heady summer heat sticking their shirts to their muscles, a little breathless, until his mother found him. She hurried him back inside, her eyes soft and sad like they had been every time one of the disciplinary reports came back. Ludwig stopped watching the boys. He didn't dare ask what he'd done wrong this time.

All of a sudden, the disciplinary reports stopped. Gilbert's letters stopped just as suddenly, and Ludwig discovered how much he'd been relying on them. The absence left him suddenly aware of their small American town, and how wandering the streets only brought him so far away from home. Everything was _quiet_. Ludwig's brother was never quiet.

Gilbert came home from college on a hot summer night like the one he'd watched the older boys, bloodshot eyes and staggering drunk, cursing and crying and screaming at nothing, weaving up the road with his black jacket fluttering around his shoulders like raven feathers. Ludwig saw him first and nearly spilled his soda over himself running to him. The sunset and bruises stained his pale skin purple and red, eyes blown wide. He had blood on his teeth.

'I'm not going back,' he gasped, clutching Ludwig's broader shoulders and crooning broken noises into his chest. Ludwig wrapped one of his wiry arms around his shoulders, too aware of how differently they were built now, and helped him home.

Their mother dropped her dishes with a crash when she saw them. Gilbert slumped onto their unvarnished kitchen table and let her wash away the blood.

He wouldn't speak of whatever had happened. It didn't matter; Ludwig found it in the newspaper his mother threw away the next morning. Gilbert bared his teeth in a wild smile for the camera, his shirt painted with the words _We are your children_. His eyes were blazing and oddly desperate. Behind him, with a flag, stood a man he recognized, with warm dark eyes. The article spoke about a protest, a riot, by activists for radical change. It struck a chord in Ludwig, somewhere deep and quiet. As much as he wanted to save the article, he didn't. He knew better. Fifteen years old and he knew, already, that staying quiet about anything he might love was safer.

The words of rumours followed Gilbert around their town like broken blackbird wings. _Rights_ and _violent_ and _activist_ from some, _good man, good man, that's our Beilschmidt_ from others, and more, uglier words he didn't understand.

 _Brave_ , at least, was one everyone whispered. Ludwig knew better than to ask Gilbert what had happened after his protest, but the one thing he was sure of was that Gilbert was the bravest person he knew.

They all sat together on the leather couch downstairs with the stuffing poking through the cracks. Gilbert wrapped his arms around them both and laid his head on their mother's shoulder, his wildness finally gone, tame and _normal_ like he was never supposed to be. She combed the soot of cigarettes from it, the lines around her eyes deeper now, permanently. Ludwig sat in the space between them with a knot in his chest, pulling him further and further apart. On the radio in the corner, Bowie crackled through. He felt lost and alone more than ever, despite Gilbert having returned- forever, this time.

'I'm sorry,' Gilbert said hoarsely, after a long time. Their mother nodded.

Gilbert fell asleep there and Ludwig helped their mother drape a blanket over him. She gazed down at his brother for a long time, thumb brushing across the dark shadows under his eyes.

They went upstairs together. The dishes still weren't done, and before she could start towards them, Ludwig silently stepped in. She sighed and touched his shoulder.

'You look so much like him,' she said with a slight smile. Ludwig looked at himself in the wavering water and could only see that he didn't know when to give up on someone else.

Gilbert moved back out two days later. Their mother didn't protest. Neither did Ludwig.

0o0o0o

Ludwig got tired of hearing the words _burned out_ before his brother must have, all the sympathetic, simpering whispers about how someone so _bright_ could end up so-

'-wrecked, that's what they said. But I convinced them to give it to me instead of knocking it down.' Gilbert glanced sideways at him, and this close, side by side and rubbing shoulders in the narrow doorway to the flat, Ludwig could see the tension that had stopped leaving his jaw. His black leather jacket creaked against his hunched posture. 'Not _that_ much worse than home, is it?'

He almost said the words _you could do better_ to the empty concrete walls before he thought better of it and closed his teeth over them with a bitter snap. Gilbert knew, and his jaw tightened again before he pushed past him and into the space that smelled of industrial dust.

'We could paint it,' Ludwig offered.

'Do you know how to paint?' Gilbert barely cast a glance at him.

'I could learn.'

'No. Don't bother.' Gilbert turned his attention to the porous grey walls instead, lip curling slightly. 'Not worth it for this.'

He didn't argue. It was easier not to say anything, because Gilbert was all _burned up_ , burned _out_ , charred and bitter like ashes in the summer campfire, settling on his tongue. There was a cigarette stain on his pale cheek.

'I can't be the only one who feels this way, baby brother.' Gilbert said, still staring at the empty walls, hands braced on his hips. 'Do you ever feel claustrophobic, but it's with this town?'

'I don't know.'

'You have to be.' He thrust out his arms and spun around, eyes closed and eyelashes making light patterns against his pale skin. 'I want to be out of here. I want to be something else. Want to be everything. Like Ziggy Stardust.' His eyes cracked open. 'Don't tell me you don't know. Someone like you could be everything. Right up there with the great names in music.'

'I'm going to go bring the boxes in,' Ludwig said, not meeting his eyes. Silence, and then Gilbert scoffed and turned back around. Ludwig left, and hauled up the battered drum set full of his marks and mistakes and learning.

Gilbert was downstairs with a smoke when he came back, but he ashed it out and put it away when Ludwig offered to play. He did his favourite, rock stars and starlight and Bowie. He had gotten better, or at least good enough to make the lines around his brother's eyes slacken a little bit. It made him glow all over the inside. _Make things better_. That's what he was good at. What he was supposed to do.

Walking home, he thought more about Gilbert telling him to be everything, and then tried not to think of it at all.

0o0o0o

A few years later in Gilbert's same dingy basement lined with familiar peeling posters and the same battered set of drums, Ludwig turned the radio up and closed his eyes. It was even easier now to pour the feeling into his hands and let himself go. This was the only thing he knew- the only thing he _needed_ until the finishing chords rippled out and he could stop breathing hard. His hands ached from clenching the drumsticks too hard, and he absentmindedly rubbed at the tension. He missed a beat on the bridge and no matter what, he couldn't stop thinking of it.

Gilbert shoved his friends, his hair and skin a pale shock in the dark basement. When he laughed, Ludwig could see the glint of teeth.

'Didn't I tell you? Didn't I _fucking_ tell you? My baby brother can do _anything_. Give him a _real_ challenge next time, Francis.' He clapped Ludwig on the shoulder, gazing down at him with that bright, inscrutable expression. The knot of worry cutting off his breath loosened. Gilbert was in a good mood today. 'Good job.'

Antonio and Francis filed away upstairs, leaving them alone. Gilbert watched them go before raking a hand lightly through Ludwig's sweaty hair.

'I heard that missed beat,' he said quietly. Ludwig's chest tightened. Gilbert didn't look at him, eyes fixed on the posters in the far wall. His brother had this look in his eyes more and more now, sharp and impatient and ambitious. Gilbert had said and proved himself that college wasn't for him, but someone like him was always hungry for _something_.

 _Burned out_.

Gilbert turned his blazing gaze on him, piercing down to the core.

'You'll have to practice more before we can perform,' he said. Before Ludwig could say anything or even think about what performance would be like, Gilbert ruffled his hair and ran upstairs to join his friends, shouting out for them to wait for him.

Ludwig put the music back up and practiced the new song until it was muscle memory.

He waited until he heard Antonio and Francis leave before going back upstairs. His head was buzzing faintly from the music, and the harsh sunlight through the dusty windows hurt his eyes. Gilbert was sprawled on the couch, watching him. His blacksmithing tools were scattered on the floor. Ludwig tried to nudge them into a pile.

'I should go home soon,' he said, voice echoing against the bare walls. Gilbert slipped off the couch easily and stood with the hint of a smile, not speaking. Ludwig itched to fill the silence, and Gilbert knew he did, so it was only an inevitability that he spoke again. 'Homework.'

He snorted and his posture loosened, swaying. ' _Homework_.'

The way he said it rubbed like sandpaper, stripping away the last calm of his music. 'It's due tomorrow.'

'They work you too hard.' His eyes were over-bright in the slanted light from the window. 'Or if it's so urgent, maybe you should stop coming to see me, huh?'

'You told me to come, Gilbert.' His head hurt worse now, a persistent pain behind the temple. 'Are you drunk?'

'You could do a lot better than this.' Gilbert gestured at him in a sweeping motion that still made Ludwig feel small and wrong and awkward and too aware of their seven-year difference even at eighteen.

'You're drunk.' His voice was too stiff, not confident, never confident enough. 'You know I don't like it when you get drunk while I'm here.'

Gilbert didn't answer, just studied him with the odd, hungry expression Ludwig saw too often now. He broke their gaze, and Gilbert clicked his tongue.

'Listen, I'm thankful for all you've done.'

'You mean helping you come back?' He still didn't want to look back.

'Use your head, Lutz.' Gilbert snorted, and stood up, rummaging in a closet. 'I mean all of it. Staying around when...when you shouldn't.'

'What are you talking about, Gilbert?' But he knew, and a quiet, too-hot feeling woke back up inside, that Gilbert trusted him, was proud of him, and if he was, everything would be okay.

'Hear me out.' He approached him like he did his wild birds, careful of talons or sharp words, a fabric bundle tucked under his arm. 'I saw this in the shop, and I just thought you'd look good in it. Think of it as an early congratulations for when you graduate.' He shook it out. It was an old, olive green army-style jacket. Ludwig's throat felt thick, and he let Gilbert slip it onto him.

'Thank you,' he said quietly, focused on the comforting, stiff feel of the coat.

'You look good,' Gilbert said. He touched his shoulder and adjusted the collar, fingertips grazing the chain of his necklace. 'You've always done good.'

He pulled back, unable to meet his eyes. 'I have to go.'

'Yeah. I know.' Gilbert let go. 'Make sure you do well in school.'

Right before he left, he hesitated, the question of performance still lingering. Instead of asking, he tucked the jacket further around himself and walked home.

Gilbert didn't mention that night again for a long time, enough for Ludwig to almost pretend he never did. There were other things to think about for now.

They didn't talk about performing again for a long time, long enough for Ludwig to graduate with honours and for Gilbert to rouse himself from his hazes long enough to surprise him at the ceremony, whispering _you did so well_ in his ear. He looked happy, roaring and bright, and Ludwig felt weight lift off his shoulders. Even if he heard Francis mention Gilbert _living through him_ , he didn't mind.

One night, Gilbert caught him looking at college pamphlets.

'College, huh?' he asked, picking up one of the leaflets. Ludwig itched at his disruption, and tried to remember if he'd already read it or which organized pile it had formerly been in, but he held his tongue.

'I was thinking of engineering. I was good at physics. Calculating things.'

'You'll be good at anything.' Gilbert studied the pamphlet for a moment more. 'This program is out of the country.'

'Well, a lot of them are.' Ludwig didn't know what the slight burr in his brother's voice meant. 'I have a job now, remember? Down at the pawn shop. I'll pay for it.' He wasn't sure if he would be able to, but he pushed that gnawing worry down.

'Look at you, growing up so fast.' Gilbert smiled, but it was as unreadable and foreign as if a wolf had done it. He held the pamphlet out by one end, and Ludwig took it. His brother held on a little too long before letting go and stalking away, shoulders curled forward, head tipped up to the sky, eyes closed.

They didn't talk for weeks after that.

0o0o0o

Ludwig shouldn't have agreed when Gilbert offered. The night Gilbert finally brought up performance, he was alone and tired and buzzing with a can of cheap beer he'd bought off one of the older boys- breath in his throat, hands warm together, dark eyes gleaming soft. He thought about that boy's hands with his head propped on the armrest of the couch, full of energy with no outlet. His fingertips grazed the pile of university pamphlets.

The door rattled, and he tipped his head towards it. He should feel ashamed or panicked- he didn't want his mother to know, but he couldn't rouse the effort, too sick and drained, all sound and colour dry and dull as dirty snow and static. Ludwig watched through half-lidded eyes as Gilbert let himself in. All he could do was blink at him and the white blaze of his hair, star-bright to his dazed eyes, like that musician on the TV. Like stardust. _Ziggy Stardust_.

'How'd you get a key?' he asked slowly.

'I took yours last time you visited me.' Gilbert dropped it on the counter and slid in beside him on the couch, knees shoving together. Ludwig ended up half-lying on him, dizzy and too warm to move away. Gilbert gently raked fingers through his hair, and Ludwig tilted his head back, staring into the light.

'Gil…'

'Drunk.' Gilbert made an odd, disparaging noise. 'The least you could have done was do it on something good.'

'Don't have anything else,' Ludwig mumbled.

'I'll get you better,' Gilbert promised. 'But I want you to play something in this show if you want it. A little one, just in the park. You're the best drummer around, you'll do great.'

Ludwig's head was ten steps back, and he found himself nodding for the glint in his brother's eyes and the praise. Gilbert's face broke into a wide smile and he hauled him up from the couch, spinning them in a quick circle.

'I knew you'd help, baby brother. Tomorrow evening at seven in the green space. Just do what you do best.'

He was gone with a rattle of the front door before Ludwig could respond. He had left the key, and Ludwig locked the door behind him, then collapsed into bed and dreamed of stars.

0o0o0o

He wore the army jacket and a pair of Gilbert's old fingerless gloves. Summer was high, and the pile of university programs was covering half the table. Ludwig's eyes were stinging by the time he put them down. He wanted to be done with all of it, breathe in the night and leave to somewhere else, but he stayed frozen by the table for a moment more, head spinning and always, always blurry. The jacket didn't make it better, but he could breathe in the scent of leather and fabric and other people might think he was older and stronger and better at making his own decisions.

Gilbert shone in the moonlight when he trudged up to the back of the makeshift plywood stage, cheap red chalk streaked in his hair, lights glinting off the shiny silver studs in his old leather jacket. He was holding a battered black guitar that Ludwig recognized from the pawn shop downtown. He'd wondered who'd finally bought it.

'Good man,' he breathed, looking him over. 'I got you a loaned drum set. I'm thinking we play David Bowie tonight, how about it?'

'Is the guitar loaned?'

He grinned. 'Nope. This is all mine now.' He ran a loving hand along the body, examining it for imaginary flaws, and then sent the same scrutinizing eye across Ludwig. He had a feeling it would come up with all too many mistakes. 'Hold still.'

'What are you going to do?'

Gilbert unscrewed a pot of black face paint. 'Trust me. You'll look good. Better than you do now.'

Ludwig closed his eyes and felt the cool smear of a line being drawn under each of his eyes. He kept his eyes closed and resisted the urge to touch.

'I don't bite, you can open your eyes now,' Gilbert said with a hint of amusement. Ludwig did, and looked at himself in the small mirror. The black lines made his eyes look huge and very blue. Above the hand mirror, Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

'I won't bite you, at least,' he added. His eyes caught the moonlight and threw it back sharper.

'We've got two minutes before we go,' Antonio interrupted, hefting a bass guitar. Gilbert broke away and ruffled his hair, the world snapping back to normal. _I'm scared_ , Ludwig wouldn't ever say. Gilbert watched Francis leave and fixed his collar, skin smelling like alcohol and- it was gunsmoke or blood in his hair among the chalk, Ludwig couldn't tell.

'I want to give you something after this. Consider it a graduation present before you leave for college.' A pause, heavy with the roar outside. 'If you leave.'

'Gilbert,' he began, but the roar reached a crescendo and Gilbert spun away, grabbing his guitar and throwing the curtain open. The crowd screamed, and it sounded like thunder.

'Come on, Lutz.' His eyes were glittering and faraway as the stars. 'Let's show them what we're made of.'

Ludwig picked up the drumsticks and followed him out. The stage lights blazed, and his head was buzzing and echoing. A familiar few chords rang out, and Ludwig sat down and lost himself in music. Everything faded back to only the bright figure shouting into the microphone and the perfect storm of sound. For all their differences, in this moment Ludwig understood his brother and his daring.

He was terribly, wonderfully _alive_.

When it was over, he was still sitting there, charged and ready for the next song. His head hurt and his hands hurt and his heart was beating so hard he could hear it. He could hear something ringing and roaring, battering around the inside of his skull.

'Oh, God, _look_ at you, baby brother,' Gilbert said, soft and prayerful, hands around his wrist and pulling him close. 'You did so well. Listen to them cheering.'

He blinked out at the stage lights and the roar, cheering for him. The longer he listened, the more it felt like liquid electricity in his bones.

Gilbert let go of his collar and thrust their hands in the air, roaring right back, screaming their names out. Ludwig drank in the noise and the sound, more alive than he'd ever been before.

Antonio and Francis both insisted Ludwig join them downtown afterwards, and Gilbert agreed with a smile full of teeth and secrets. Ludwig was too dizzy to disagree, and they ran with him to one of the echoing storage spaces and hauled open the doors.

'I said I wanted to get you something,' Gilbert said. Ludwig stepped forward into the gentle half-light and ran his hands over the drum set, shining red and black and gold.

'Where did you- _how_ -'

'We bought it and fixed it up a little. You deserved some better equipment,' Gilbert said. He tilted his head. The red chalk was dusting his cheek like ash, and he looked happier, younger, like it had been so many years ago. 'Do you like it?'

'I love it,' he said honestly, even if the words didn't seem like nearly enough to express his gratitude. Gilbert laughed and said that he was glad, that he was _proud_.

Gilbert bought him drinks that night, whispered _don't tell our mother, promise_ , but the only thing that he was high on was the cheers and the feeling of the beautiful new instrument under his hands.

'They loved you,' Gilbert told him when they finally stumbled home, Ludwig half-draped over his shoulder, head swimming. His hands and gloves were streaked with the face paint, and he still had one of the drumsticks from the show tucked in his back pocket. 'What did you think of it?'

 _Terrifying and incredible_ and he didn't know what to do with his hands or his thoughts. He opened his mouth to say so and what came out was ' _Again_ ,' in a harsh, desperate rasp that sounded too much and not enough like him.

Gilbert's expression split into a wild smile. 'That's my beautiful baby brother,' he whispered. 'God, we're gonna be the best things this world has ever seen, Lutz, just you _wait_.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Talking until too late at night with people you know too well


	2. Chapter Two

He woke up the next morning blinking and with a horrible taste in his mouth. His head hurt. He groaned and tried to pull the thin blanket over him, but it had been too small for the last few years.

Someone was hammering on the door. Ludwig heaved himself out of bed, unsteady on his feet, and dragged himself downstairs.

When he opened the door, a crumpled newsheet was shoved into his hand and Gilbert threw his arms around him.

'Holy fucking _shit_ ,' he breathed. 'We made the papers.'

Breathing in his scent of alcohol and smoke shocked Ludwig awake again, bringing back the wonderful roar of music. He untangled himself and pushed Gilbert to sit down at the varnished table. His head was still spinning, but he forced himself to at least struggle through the first paragraph, noting with a shock that it was a city paper. People had loved it. People had loved them. People _knew_ about them, all the way in the big city.

Their mother walked in from the living room and Ludwig jumped, trying to hide the incriminating article behind his back, suddenly aware that he hadn't washed all the paint off, and he was hungover...and Gilbert was with him.

She held up a copy as well, suddenly smiling.

'I don't expect much less from you boys,' she said fondly. 'You've both got big futures.'

Gilbert ran to hug her, jabbering on excitedly about how it had felt and all his favourite parts in the article, looking happier than ever. Apparently some reporter from the city had seen them, and ran the front page article on it. Ludwig settled back at the table and poured himself a coffee, enjoying the sunlight and his family and the lingering happiness.

Gilbert convinced him to come to the big city with him, just for the evening. He led the way to a club full of smoky light, and as they stepped inside, people turned to stare, drinking them in.

'Beilschmidt,' someone greeted, and he turned to grin at them, tracing his thumb across the back of Ludwig's neck. Ludwig noticed how much taller he was than Gilbert, and how he still felt seven years too young no matter what.

'So,' he said to the crowd, which leaned in to listen. 'Did you hear about our performance?'

They cheered, a hungry noise. Some people shouted that they'd seen the papers.

'So all you got to do was _read_ about us, the best things America's ever gonna see?' Gilbert drawled, eyes bright. The crowd snarled their disappointment, every word laced with want, want, want. Wanting them.

'I don't think _that's_ very fair to them. Isn't that right, baby brother?'

The crowd's attention snapped to him, and Ludwig stared out at the mass of teeth and eyes and bottles, breath trapped in the heavy air.

'No,' he heard himself say. Gilbert cooed, thumb stroking the joint of his shoulder.

'You heard him. I'll set something up. Tell your friends.' He grinned and pulled Ludwig down to sit at the bar. People respectfully moved away to give them space.

'We're performing again,' Ludwig said, not daring to make it a question, to test Gilbert's glittering smile.

'How do you feel about Wednesday?' Gilbert slid him a glass. The bartender didn't bother to card either of them. Ludwig accepted it and took a long drink, staring up at the lights. Gilbert's hand drifted to his collar, pulling the cross out.

'I can do it,' he said, still unable to meet his gaze.

'Good man.' Gilbert clapped him on the shoulder and Ludwig drank and watched the bartender, his sleeves rolled up over tattooed forearms. When he glanced his way and asked if he wanted another, Ludwig focused on his beer again and nodded, mouth dry. The man laughed and slid him one.

'On the house,' he said, green eyes and Ludwig's cheeks warm. He wouldn't accept payment no matter what he said.

Gilbert came back two beers later, hair wreathed with laurels of smoke, eyes heavily lidded, the glints of red reflecting the lights. The joint in his hands smouldered.

'How you doing, Lutz?' he asked, words loose with alcohol.

'I've just been drinking,' he mumbled. Gilbert laughed and tapped his chest, hand splaying out over his heart for a moment, hot through his shirt, pushing him back into his chair.

'Don't mean that. It's good, though, isn't it? Maybe it'll loosen you up a little more. You deserve that.' He sat up, throwing a heavy arm around his shoulders. 'I mean in _life_. Because I'm feeling fucking awesome. The whole world is mine now.'

He dug into himself, searching for the words to explain everything that was Gilbert and music and this heat. 'I loved...performance. With you.'

'That's good.' Gilbert grinned, leaning against his shoulder, slurring his words like he was already asleep. 'I love it too. We're gonna be so good.'

The smoke wafted around their heads. Ludwig must have looked at the glowing ember a moment too long because he raised it.

'You want to try some? It makes you feel amazing.'

Ludwig's instinctive refusal caught somewhere behind his teeth. He wanted Gilbert to stay here, still praising him, something of his wild shooting-star brother just for _him_.

'I can…' He trailed off, head aching. Gilbert's blurry eyes cleared and he sat up.

'Hey. I'm not ordering you to.' He set the joint down and pinched it out, mouth twitching towards a grimace. 'I'm not gonna force you into this, baby brother. My world's all yours, too.'

Ludwig's shoulders sagged in relief.

'Thank you.'

'Don't thank me.' Gilbert ordered a beer for them both, slapping a handful of cash on the counter, and they sat in quiet, warm silence, talking of nothing and everything, until they had to go home again. Just before they got home, Gilbert fixed his hair and collar, making him perfect again.

'There we go. Now, off to bed with you, Luddy.' He winked. 'And I suggest you clean up a little, or our mother will know you've been out with me.'

He played again in that club, a few days later, paint smeared under his eyes, and his head was clear enough to hear his name shouted back from the crowd. He loved it, oddly, that something he could do made him _someone_ to everyone watching.

Gilbert stuck a cigarette in his mouth after they were done, coughing slightly. Ludwig was still sitting by his new drums, riding the high of cheers.

'Good man,' Gilbert told him, nudging his shoulder. 'Ready for the afterparty?'

'The what?' He shook himself out.

'They love us. It would be a crime not to enjoy that.' He threw open the curtains again, inviting the noise back and strode out into the crowd.

'Come say hello to your fans, Lutz,' he invited. Ludwig followed, unsure, and saw Antonio and Francis flirting nearby, half-empty glasses in their hands. People turned towards them like ripples in a lake, and Gilbert reveled in the attention, hair ruffled, jacket and smile crooked. Someone touched his shoulder, and he threw them a wink.

'Go have fun for a little, Ludwig,' he offered. 'You deserve it.'

Ludwig watched him disappear into the crowd, suddenly even more aware of the gazes on him. He didn't know what they expected, and abruptly turned his back and made himself a drink. He wondered if the bartender with the green eyes had been watching.

A girl slipped forward and placed a hand on his arm. She was pretty, Ludwig supposed, bright coral mouth and brighter hair, wide shimmery eyes. Her skin was soft.

'Your brother told me about you, Lutz.' Her voice was teasing, and Ludwig shifted away. Only Gilbert called him Lutz.

'It's Ludwig.' She had bright blue makeup in lines under her eyes, just like him, and he couldn't help looking. 'Ludwig Beilschmidt.'

'Ludwig, then. You like my paint?' She grinned, suddenly so much like his brother that he shuddered. 'It looks good on you. You're a talent on the drums, you know that?' Her eyes flashed, like the animals he saw after dark, walking home alone. 'What other talents do you have?'

'I don't,' he said. He stepped back, but nearly stumbled against the wall.

'Don't be ridiculous.' Her night-animal gaze cast over his shoulders, the product of too many hours doing push-ups until he collapsed, trying to figure out what to do with his awkward body. 'Don't tell me nobody's gotten to you yet.'

'I...I've been busy.' He didn't want to understand what that meant. Whatever it was, this felt wrong.

'You could have anything, Ludwig.' She threw out a hand to the crowd, makeup and eyes shining. 'Hasn't Gilbert told you? You've got enough _talent_ to take on the whole world. Bet he's proud.'

 _Burned out_ , people said, but Ludwig could be _different_ than that, and if Gilbert was proud of him- if they could be something better together, if this girl was what he wanted-

'Hey!'

Ludwig turned towards Antonio, still clutching his bass guitar and a wad of money. Ludwig stepped away from the girl, feeling a rush of odd relief.

'Antonio?'

'Your pay.' He handed over the bills. Ludwig stared at it.

'Pay?'

'Yeah, this place hired us. Pretty great, huh? People _want_ us now.'

Ludwig just nodded, still bewildered. Antonio glanced at the girl nearby, who was sitting with her friends again, and an odd expression twisted his mouth.

'Her?'

'What about her?' Ludwig defended.

'It's not you. Not your fault. He didn't tell you?' Antonio stared at the girl, rubbing the base of his neck. 'Gilbert said he wanted you to have some fun, but…'

Ludwig didn't like the look on his face. Antonio's smile looked strained.

'How about you catch a ride home and study for a while? I don't want you getting caught out so late with alcohol.'

'Antonio,' he protested, suddenly hating the idea of being sent home that way, like a disobedient kid, but his jaw was set.

'Hey,' Gilbert suddenly snarled, pushing in between them. Antonio looked up at him, and something darker flickered through his expression.

'We talked about this,' he said. Gilbert slung his arm around Ludwig's shoulder and tugged him in front of him, chest to chest, tucking his chin around his shoulder. Ludwig stared out at the club, barely daring to breathe.

'He deserves to have some fun. Don't you, Luddy?' His thumb traced around and around the side of his neck.

'Gilbert,' Antonio warned. Gilbert laughed and turned his back on his friend. He released Ludwig but kept his arm firmly around his shoulders.

'Come on. We're leaving.'

Ludwig fell into step as he stalked off, feeling relieved to be away and not knowing why he felt wrong for that. He didn't want whatever the girl had been offering, in the curve of wrists and subtle words, but he could feel the gazes of people watching him go, and the expectations there. He looked back to see Antonio and Gilbert talking, watching them, and Francis looking furious.

'Don't pay attention to them,' Gilbert ordered, and the sound of his voice pulled Ludwig to him like a needle to North. 'Come on, there's better parties somewhere else. If people there know what's good for them, they'll follow us.'

As they walked, there was the clatter of footsteps behind them. Gilbert smiled, his grip loosening slightly, enough for Ludwig to straighten up again.

'See?' he said. 'You don't need to be _good_ if you're the best.'

Ludwig held his tongue over that word, _good_. He knew better.

They found another club, and Gilbert lit it like electricity, shining like stardust. Ludwig drank and watched the crowd and the dancing. He was warm by the end of the night, light and peaceful. Gilbert staggered over to him and laid his head on Ludwig's shoulder, cooing a lullaby of Bowie's music.

'How you feelin'?' he whispered against Ludwig's neck. He was loose and lax and floating, and the words slipped out easy, easy.

'Good. Real good.'

'That's what I like to hear.' Gilbert's hand circled on Ludwig's back. 'I want a tattoo. Thought about it in college, but never had the money. But I do now. I've got _everything_ now, Lutz, because I've got you.'

'Everything,' he repeated.

'We're everything,' Gilbert promised. Ludwig stirred from his pleasant warmth.

'What kinda tattoo?' he slurred.

'Mmm.' Gilbert looked up at him. 'An eagle, right here.' His hand flattened over Ludwig's shoulder blade.

'I like that,' Ludwig said, drifting off. 'I think I want a tattoo, too.'

'What of?'

He closed his eyes for a moment and dragged up the best idea of _beauty_ he could remember, twisting around sunset and green and softest sky blues.

'A flower. Cornflower, I think.'

Gilbert laughed. 'You're so sweet.'

'Nothing wrong with that,' he said through the haze.

'Not for you, maybe.'

He was too tired to think about that. The club was quieter now, and Gilbert hauled him up so they could both stagger outside into the brisk evening air.

'I'll get us both a tattoo one day.'

'Promise?' Ludwig asked sleepily. Gilbert stilled for a moment.

'Yeah. I promise.'

They took a taxi home and Gilbert helped him into bed, tucking the covers up like he had when he was so much younger. Ludwig let it happen, head hazy, forgetting to tell him to help take off the paint or the jacket or to remember college applications or anything. The only thing in his head was a dream of how Gilbert would look with eagle wings.

0o0o0o

'Our next gig is a little further away,' Gilbert said from Antonio's old, beat-up pickup, idling in the front yard. He leaned out of the window and handed him some faxed forms.

'What do you mean, _our?'_ Ludwig asked, clutching the forms.

'Because you're my drummer.' Gilbert squinted at him, a flinty half-challenge in his gaze. 'Summer isn't over yet, right? You've got a little time before you leave for college. And this'll make us great, we're picking up someone else down there. He's one of those _Wunderkind_ types. Music genius. A real priss, though.'

'I want to study more,' Ludwig said stubbornly, folding the papers in half. Every time Gilbert talked about him leaving, guilt twisted inside of him. He didn't know why. It didn't matter- this whole music thing was Gilbert's great love, not his.

'You won't need to study if this goes the way I think it will.' That bright hungry look was written all across him, and the implication made Ludwig look away. 'It'll be four days at most, I talked to our mother already. Three nights. I'll take care of you, baby brother. I always will.'

He gave in. He always did. When he didn't answer, Gilbert's shoulders softened.

'Keep the papers and look them over,' he offered. 'I'll be back tomorrow to see what you think.'

He would go with him tomorrow, and they both knew.

The truck rattled away, and Ludwig retreated to the cool of the basement to read. The more he read, the worse he felt. They were plans for a band, a rock band, and the next week was full of Gilbert's handwriting and performance. But beyond that, the cramped, angled handwriting stopped, leaving an open, fresh page. It was really only for some of the summer. He'd have time to arrange for college later. The weight in his chest loosened.

He turned over the last page and a photograph fluttered to the ground. He stopped to pick it up, intrigued, and turned it over. A man looked out, violet eyes guarded through his glasses, dark hair slightly curled. He looked refined and distant, and Ludwig could never imagine him in the rock band Gilbert was suggesting. He flipped the picture back over and read the slightly faded purple ink. _Roderich Edelstein, Pianist_.

The thought of a grand piano accompanying Gilbert's screamed lyrics made him smile. He set the photo on the bedside table and skimmed the rest of the paper, which ended with a copy of the agreement, heavily annotated in Gilbert's red ink, circling past achievements and underlining choice sentences. Roderich had agreed to rehearse together. He was certainly talented, and the worst that could happen was a rejection.

When Gilbert pulled up the next morning, he was barely even surprised. Gilbert smiled as he climbed into the passenger seat and helped him throw a suitcase full of clothes and- more gently- his drum set into the back. He accepted the faxes. Ludwig was trying to unstick his seatbelt when Gilbert nudged him.

'Where's the photo?'

'Downstairs on my table. Why?'

No answer, just the clatter of the cab door and then the slam of the house door. By the time Ludwig had wrestled out his seatbelt, Gilbert was sliding back into the truck, cheeks ruddier from the running.

'What was _that_ about?' Ludwig quipped.

'None of your fucking business,' Gilbert said cheerfully, punching him casually in the shoulder. 'Come on. Roddy gets pissy if we're late.'

'How do you know _that?'_

'Shut up.' Gilbert looked positively delighted as he kicked the ignition until the truck grumbled to life. He rolled down the windows and turned up David Bowie, and Ludwig leaned back in his seat and enjoyed the wind and sun in his hair. For a while, he was comfortable.

They screeched to a stop. Ludwig pried his eyes open and realized they were now in a city, and in front of a looming music hall.

'You didn't say he was quite this professional,' he murmured. Gilbert was balanced on the balls of his feet, grinning up at the marble columns.

'He didn't, either. Ain't he an aristocrat.' His teeth pulled across his lip. 'He's grown up a little.'

When they stepped through the revolving doors, someone rushed towards them.

'Mr. Edelstein is expecting you, sir.'

' _Mr. Edelstein_. Aren't we fancy?' Gilbert looked the intern up and down. 'I suppose I shouldn't keep his majesty waiting, then.'

'Who is he?' The intern eyed Ludwig. 'We agreed to a personal interview only with the singer.'

'He's mine.' Gilbert set a hand on his shoulder, the grip hard and unforgiving. Ludwig saw the stiffening of his spine, flint and iron. 'My drummer. The best damn one this side of America. Roderich sees us both or the deal is off.'

The intern wavered before abruptly ducking his head and nodding.

'Understood, sir. I take it you're in the contract together?'

'Of course.' His grip tightened briefly, cutting off a question about what contract he meant. The schedule hadn't mentioned anything about it.

The intern led them through a hallway and unlocked a door, gesturing them in. Gilbert's smile broadened as he looked in.

'This is the right place,' he murmured. He stepped in briskly and locked the door behind him.

Soft piano music filled the air, complex and classical. Gilbert strode towards a slender figure seated by the polished grand and grabbed his shoulder.

'Your little intern almost turned us out because of my brother,' he hissed. The music abruptly stopped and the man turned, his profile silhouetted by the sun through the window, fine-featured.

'I assume you bullied your way in, then?'

Gilbert smiled. 'I do what I have to, princess. Couldn't pass up seeing you again.'

The musician made a soft tutting noise and shook his head.

'I do expect that from you.' An electric tension snapped between them.

Gilbert abruptly let go and his eyes met Ludwig's for a moment, nearly guilty.

'This is him,' he said. 'Best drummer I ever met.'

The man finally rose and moved out of the sun. His eyes were intense and had an odd enlivenment the photograph hadn't captured. His gaze ran over him, calculating, like he was a piece of art that was halfway carved and waiting for his hand in completion.

'Ludwig, is it?' he asked, and without pausing for an answer, continued. 'Your brother has told me about your talent. Come downstairs. I want to see.'

He didn't wait to see if they were following as he swept out the door. Gilbert fell into step beside him as they ran down the stairs behind him.

'Don't mind him, Roddy's just being a prick.' Gilbert absentmindedly stroked the joint of neck and shoulder, digging his thumb into a knot of tension Ludwig hadn't noticed until it was released. 'He likes keeping up a perfect act, but if he's bothering you too much, tell me. He may be a brilliant bastard, but you're my brother.'

'Thanks, Gilbert.'

'He'll love you once you play for him. Everyone will.' Their footsteps rattled against the stairs in unison. 'Talent, Lutz. That's what gets you out of this place and into the big wide world. And you have it, so _use it_.'

The staircase led to a huge, echoing hall, dripping in music and walls of red. Ludwig could have stood on the staircase for hours just to admire the beautiful place, but Gilbert urged him down to the stage. The drum set waiting there almost made him forget about the concert hall entirely. He ran his hands across the rims, admiring the craftsmanship. It was obviously more expensive than his secondhand set, but he loved his own.

'Go on,' Gilbert whispered. Ludwig sat down and picked up the drumsticks, weighing them in his hands. He closed his eyes, ignoring the gazes on him, reached for the silence and thunder just beyond his prickling skin, and started to play.

Three minutes later, even though it felt like much longer and no time at all, Ludwig woke back up. Gilbert and Roderich were staring at each other, alight with a tension he didn't understand.

'Well?' Gilbert asked. His hand drifted to Ludwig's shoulder and dug in like raptor talons.

'I'll perform with you.'

'Good.' Gilbert smiled and squeezed Ludwig's shoulder once. He grabbed Roderich's hand, hard and challenging, jerking him closer for a moment before bounding off in the direction of the woodwinds. Ludwig carefully set down the drumsticks.

'Where are we performing with you?' Ludwig asked.

'Not here. There's a place downtown that's more suited to your genre.' He picked up one of the drumsticks. 'Who taught you to play?'

'Nobody,' Ludwig said, surprised. 'I taught myself.'

'Why?'

Ludwig was lost. He'd never been asked that. He rarely if ever asked _why_ himself, especially to Gilbert. 'What does that mean?'

'Who do you play for?' Roderich insisted impatiently. 'Yourself?'

Ludwig moved to shake his head in disagreement before he stopped himself, still confused and lost.

'I don't know,' he said. It was half true. Roderich's expression softened nearly imperceptibly. Ludwig thought he almost looked sad.

'Find out,' he said, and swept away to chastise Gilbert for bothering the flute players.

Ludwig picked up the drumsticks again and drowned his prickling thoughts in sound.

0o0o0o

The venue downtown felt huge. The muted rumble through the curtain felt like an ocean ready to devour them. Gilbert was polishing his guitar, crooning softly. Ludwig felt his fear like a looming grey wall just out of reach. In some distant way, he thought it should affect him more, but all he was doing, all he could do was sit by his drum set, spin a drumstick on the flat of his hand, and stare at the pattern.

'You ready, baby brother?' Gilbert asked. Ludwig nodded mutely. Gilbert set his guitar aside and pulled a stool over to sit down next to him. 'Hey. Talk to me, Lutzy, what's wrong?'

The nickname finally jolted him out of whatever haze he was in, and he ground an elbow into Gilbert's ribs.

'Don't call me _Lutzy_ ,' he hissed, face hot. 'You haven't called me that since I was-'

'Since you were ten, I know. Makes it so much better now.' He shifted closer, pushing his elbow away. 'What are you worried about?'

'Francis and Antonio aren't performing?' he checked. He didn't know how he felt to know it would just be them, alone or as close to it as mattered.

'Nah. It's just me and you. And Roddy, but he's off getting ready like it's some fancy orchestra.'

'What instrument is he playing?' Ludwig couldn't help smiling again at the image of a grand piano on stage.

He jerked his head over to the back wall and Ludwig looked over to see Roderich testing keys on an electronic keyboard. The sound was sharp and fit better with the spinning lights overhead than he expected.

'Ready to go?' Gilbert asked. He nodded. His brother grinned proudly. 'One last thing, then.'

Ludwig obediently closed his eyes and tipped his face up for the cold smear of paint under his eyes.

'Ready,' he echoed.

The keyboard was set up and Gilbert was glowing. Ludwig was surprised to feel his own blood running high, craving the roar of applause at the end. He could start to love this life, the greed and glory and give-and-take rush.

Before he could remind himself it was only for this week, the curtain was rising and the crowd was screaming for them, _their names_ , wanting the sound and pounding music. Ludwig would give it. The music melded like metal and wrapped them all up. They played perfectly for each other, and Gilbert felt like lightning crackling across the packed hall, working everyone into his energy. He had never looked better.

At the end of the songs, he unhooked his guitar and _leaped_ off the stage. Ludwig's wordless shout of fear caught as he realized the crowd was holding him up. Gilbert was _crowing_ with delight, grabbing onto hands and spreading his arms like black eagle wings, eyes half-lidded until only fluttering crimson showed. He was boosted back up to the stage and Ludwig ran for him.

He forgot worrying about Gilbert or anything at all when the crowd reached for him, too. He didn't jump, but he stretched out his arms to touch them and let them return it, so many hands wrapping around his wrists and pressing palms to his like devotion. It felt like that pure liquid electricity under his skin that he'd fallen in love with.

When the curtain finally came down and he stumbled backstage, his chest was heaving and he had to lean against a wall. Gilbert's hands found him, guiding his chin up, and Ludwig could do nothing but let him. He brushed a thumb under his eye.

'Your paint's smudged,' he said softly. The shadows of bruises showed on his paler-than-pale skin, and Ludwig hazily wondered if he'd have them, too. He dug a thumb into his own wrist to see, but it was still sensitive and tingling. Gilbert nearly laughed, a low growling noise that sounded almost like a purr. 'You enjoyed yourself.'

'Yeah,' Ludwig said, his words stumbling over his gasping breath. 'When- when do we get to do it again?'

'That's my baby brother,' he said with a hard, steely glint in his eye. 'How does tomorrow night sound for you?'

Nothing had ever sounded better.

0o0o0o

The next night, Ludwig was lying on his back in one of their rented motel rooms with the second-hand Walkman he'd just bought turned up, heart still pounding from the concert an hour earlier. He ruffled his thumb across the bills in his pocket, pleased. If this continued, he could pay for college.

Gilbert was bickering with Roderich in their peculiar way as usual, sitting knee to knee on the other bed. He was drifting in the chords of David Bowie when Gilbert shook his shoulder.

'We need a name,' he said. For once, Roderich looked like he agreed.

'Why?'

'Because people are starting to _know_ us. When I go out, people recognize me. You should come- they ask for you all the time.' He grabbed him and hauled him onto the second bed, arranging them all in a loose triangle. 'Let's give them something to call us.'

'But we're going home,' he said. Gilbert's hand jumped to Roderich's knee, nails digging in, and they shared an indecipherable, furious look.

'We have one more concert tomorrow. It's for them to remember us by,' Gilbert said. There was a harsh warning in his tone that Ludwig couldn't understand.

'Fine,' he said cautiously, and his brother relaxed into easy grace.

'So, what do you want to be named? I think it should be something _badass_.'

'Yeah,' Ludwig agreed, growing more enthusiastic.

'Something like... _Fire Death Squad_.'

'Yeah!'

' _No_ ,' Roderich said, sounding horrified.

They argued about it. Ludwig enjoyed it more than he should, liking the steady camaraderie. He could get used to this, letting himself laugh with his brother at their next ridiculous name suggestion that made Roderich wince. Here, in this ratty motel room, chest still full of sound and paint still streaked down his face, he belonged to something bigger than himself and still in the glorious making of itself. He missed it even though it hadn't even ended yet.

In the end, they decided on something from the battered old bird encyclopedia packed in Gilbert's bag, something that sounded quieter and gentler than their band- if it was a band- something _hopeful_ despite the meaning. _Werkenvogel_. Ludwig said the name into the humming quiet.

'It's a nickname for a shrike. They're like little chickadee raptors,' Gilbert added, reading from his handbook. He outlined the size with his hands. 'Carnivores but canary size.'

'It's better than anything else,' Roderich sighed, taking off his glasses.

'I like it,' Ludwig said, surprised by his smile.

He liked it _more_ when the announcer shouted it out the next night, and the crowd chanted it back with adoring voices and starstruck devouring eyes. They loved them. They loved _him_ , and what he could do.

This time, the curtain never really came down. Ludwig had just started to put away his things when Gilbert grabbed him and swung them in a circle.

'Oh, come _on_ , Lutz, give your fans a chance to see you properly before we go.'

'What fans?'

'Don't be thick. Half of them only come to see you,' Gilbert said with a wink. 'You can relax tonight, baby brother, you've more than earned it.'

Still unsure, he put down his bag and followed Gilbert onto the crowded dance floor. Heat and bodies crushed in around him, exuberant flushed faces and hands. There was a hushed tidal wave building as people turned to them, conversations cutting off abruptly. Ludwig noticed that a lot were wearing paint that matched his, in all sorts of colours. Gilbert took his wrist, his grip digging into the bruises, and thrust their arms in the air.

'Let's give my baby brother a _proper_ welcome!' he shouted, and the silence shattered as the crowd screamed in agreement.

0o0o0o

Feliciano was painting again. It took his mind off college. It took his mind off _paying_ for college. All he'd done for ages in his family's house was paint and try to forget everything he was hiding from them, and now he could still do nothing but that.

His head still rang with their argument, and he swept his brush across the canvas, still as angry and hopelessly confused and lost, lost, lost as he had been two days ago. _We can't support you if you choose this_.

He didn't want it to be a _choice_ between his family and his art. He didn't want to see them again, and yet he was utterly lonely and empty inside. And he hadn't even- Feliciano threw another stripe of paint across the canvas- hadn't even told them about the _other_ things, all his secrets and loves and now he never _would-_

The front door jingled open and Feliciano stepped away from the canvas with a jolt, his fearful anger draining away.

'Tino?' he asked guiltily, setting down his paints and craning his neck to look through the archway. 'I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming in.'

'Don't worry,' his friend said warmly. 'You can paint whenever you want as long as you're here.'

Feliciano was about to thank him when Tino walked into the cramped living room and his mouth fell open.

'What are you _wearing?'_

'Hmm?' Tino grinned, straightening the collar of the leather studded jacket. 'How does it look on me?'

'Fantastic! And scary.' Feliciano wiped off his hands and tilted the lapel to see one of the buttons. ' _Dorothy's best friend?_ What does that mean?'

'It's...not important right now.' Tino gently nudged Feliciano's shoulder, making the spiked bracelets on his wrists clatter. 'You might find out someday.'

'Does it have anything to do with the jacket?'

Tino brightened. When he smiled, the lines of red makeup under his eyes flashed. 'It's because I'm going to a concert.'

'What kind of a concert has people who wear spike bracelets?' Feliciano asked doubtfully.

'The best kind.' Tino laid a hand on his arm, by the healing bruise on his wrist. Feliciano stared at it, remembering all too vividly the way his grandfather had grabbed him to stop him from running. Tino let go again, a silent apology dampening the fire in his eyes. Feliciano made himself smile again.

'What's the name of the band?'

Tino looked relieved. ' _Werkenvogel_. They're amazing. This is their last concert here, but Gilbert is hinting that they'll do a proper tour soon.' Tino wiped a trace of paint off Feliciano's face, eyes crinkling and gentle. 'I thought you might want to get out of the house.'

Feliciano looked at him, at the paint and spikes and leather, the roaring gleaming brightness, something sharp and hot enough to carve all the darkness out of him- and nodded.

Tino's eyes went wicked bright.

'We'll have to change your look first.'

Feliciano glanced at the chain belt around Tino's waist. 'Are you sure?'

'You'll look _fantastic_ ,' Tino assured him, leading him off to the bulging old wardrobe in his room and throwing open the doors with a look of pure glee. That was the first moment Feliciano thought he might have gotten in too deep.

Twenty minutes later, Feliciano was steered to stand in front of the mirror and looked back at a _thing_ made of glittering paint and blue-streaked hair and silver-studded leather. Something that looked fiercer, fearless, _braver_ than he was.

'How is it?'

'I love it,' Feliciano said. He reached out to touch the cracked mirror. 'I look…I look good.'

'That's what we do.' Tino twisted open a small pot of bright blue face paint. 'Close your eyes, this is the last thing.'

'What's that for?'

'You see my stripes?' Tino gestured to the red paint under his eyes, much like football lines. 'The drummer wears them, and so do we.'

'Who's the drummer? Gilbert?' Feliciano closed his eyes.

Tino laughed. 'No. He's the singer. His little brother is the drummer. And he's good at it, too.'

The paint was cool as it was smeared carefully under his eyes. Feliciano opened his eyes and turned to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes were huge and bright.

'That's good,' he murmured. Tino nodded, satisfied, tucking the paint back into his pocket.

'It's time to go.'

When they got downtown, it felt like the very buildings were throbbing with emotion and music. Tino grabbed Feliciano's unbruised hand and whooped as they raced towards the flashing entrance of the garage. They fell into the jostle for the line. Everyone was teeth-bared and _alive_ , and Feliciano's blood was singing. He finally felt like he'd woken up again.

They finally found a spot in the line behind two tall men. One of them had hair sticking up in every direction possible, the wild spikes dyed a dozen neon bright colours. His long dark coat was stained with splashes of paint.

'-said you never get out anymore, Ber, this'll be good for ya!' He clapped his companion on the shoulder. The second man didn't appear to have dressed up at all, and muttered something about _only once_ before stepping away and tucking his dark blue coat more securely around himself.

Feliciano could barely wait to get in. The whole place hummed with fervent anticipation. Tino finally shoved them both through the door and they spilled out onto the floor of neon colour and dark lights and endless heat. Feliciano could see many people wearing stripes.

'Go have a little fun, Feli,' Tino advised. The lights spun and his eyes shone out of his shadowed face. He handed him a drink and vanished into the glittering crowd, pushing his way to the swirl of people at the very front.

The concrete garage echoed with the voices of people, building to a roar, and Feliciano raised his voice with them, completely caught up in the energy. The oil tarp curtain raised, and the harsh chord of a guitar reverberated out, shuddering through his bones, silencing everything.

The singer- Gilbert- was a blazing white supernova, and moved like he'd been born for the skies rather than this industrial garage. His voice was a snarling, satisfied, raspy hiss, swaggering around the stage, starved pale hands locked like talons around a battered black guitar. The keyboardist set the electric melody.

In the back, someone raised their head- someone with striking features and broad shoulders curled like a bird of prey over a gleaming drum set. Someone with the bluest eyes Feliciano had ever _seen_ , piercing and electric and _beautiful_ , and together, every part of this man knocked him absolutely breathless.

Feliciano watched him the whole concert, the music roaring in his bones, feeling more alive than he ever had before. The drummer looked utterly focused, brows drawn in concentration. A strand or two of blond hair slipped out of his severe hairstyle to frame his face, and he effortlessly pushed them back again without missing a beat. Feliciano couldn't take his eyes off him as the music built, until it all crashed together in a perfect storm of sound, Gilbert shrieking in exultation in the front. The drummer bowed his head and his eyes fluttered open, shining brighter in comparison to the black lines underneath. The _look_ there was something that made Feliciano shudder, hot and cold and _wanting_.

He felt lightheaded when the curtain finally fell, and stumbled outside, breathing still caught at the look in those blue eyes. Tino caught him from tripping into the street, mouth open to ask a question, but Feliciano clutched the front of his jacket before he could speak.

'The drummer. The _drummer_ , Tino. What's his name?'

Tino's eyes fluttered, his eyebrows quirking. He was rubbing at a string of dark blue ink numbers on his arm. Feliciano nudged him insistently again; had he not _seen_ the man, did he not realize what Feliciano wanted?

'The drummer? Gilbert's brother? His name is Ludwig. Ludwig Beilschmidt.'

Feliciano let go, floating, and Tino steadied him.

'Ludwig,' Feliciano repeated, weighing the heavy name in his mouth. 'I need to- Tino, how can I see him again?'

Tino's brows quirked in sympathy. 'Sorry, Feli. That's a lost cause. He barely comes out afterwards, not for long.' He nodded towards the mouth of the garage, where the whole street seemed to be breathing _in_ , tense with anticipation as Gilbert strode out. 'Him, though? He loves this. And so do we, I think.'

Feliciano studied Gilbert. His eyes were a fierce and bloody red, calculating and delighted, every inch of him pale or dark in high relief. Away from the lights of the stage, he somehow looked even more alien. He looked like some utterly wild thing that shouldn't be walking among humans, and everyone knew it, not daring to move when his gaze cast across them. When he smiled, Feliciano thought of a wolf.

Before Tino could stop him, Feliciano ran up to him, words catching in his throat as he gazed up into his enlivened eyes.

'Your brother,' he said, terribly aware of the silence in the street, of every part of this man's attention focused onto him. 'I need to- please, I want to tell him something.'

Gilbert's expression twisted out of arrogant self-assurance for the first time, and although Feliciano's heart was going too fast to think of it properly, he thought it might have been amusement.

'Give it up, kid,' he said loudly. 'I don't know where Lutz goes.'

Feliciano turned to go, horribly embarrassed, and Gilbert grabbed his arm and pulled him back around to whisper.

'But if I did, I'd tell you it's down that street.' He nodded subtly and let him go again. Feliciano was too stunned to thank him, and Gilbert just grinned and turned to face his fans.

Tino rushed up to him a moment later, hands fluttering across his like he was worried the act of touching Gilbert would have left burn marks, asking him what he was _thinking_ , what he thought was going to happen, if he was okay.

'I'm okay,' Feliciano murmured, still dizzy. 'I need to...go somewhere.'

Tino nodded understandingly. 'Can you get back home by yourself?' He traced two fingers over the string of ink on his arm. 'I need to make a call.'

'Yeah.' Feliciano tipped his head back and breathed in the moonlight and warmth. 'I'll be okay,' he said again, and for the first time since he'd left his family, it felt true.

0o0o0o

In the dark and bright of this club, nobody knew who he was. Ludwig was tired of people asking him if he was Gilbert's little brother during the afterparties. He stirred his drink and watched the neon and glitter, fingertips prickling against his drumsticks. This place felt forbidden in some way. The act of watching people felt wrong.

An older man, at least college age, sat two seats down from him with dark makeup ringing his eyes, shining dust in the hollow of his throat exposed over his tight shirt. Ludwig couldn't make himself look away, even though he felt like he should, until the man turned to welcome his friend. Ludwig forced his gaze back to his drink and spun his drumstick across the flat of his palm. They would be going back home soon. He didn't know what to think about that. He wanted to perform again, he loved the music, but whenever he thought of college or performing on another tour or anything in the future, his head hurt. He wanted things to go back to a simpler time, but he wasn't sure that had ever really existed between Gilbert and him.

He'd ordered at least two more drinks when someone slipped into the bar stool beside him. The drinking made it easier to look at other people, other men even when he wasn't supposed to, but he refused to raise his eyes from the drumstick he was flipping through his fingers. He could feel their body heat and catch the glimmer of their clothes out of the corner of his eye, and his breathing quickening in his constricting chest. He was utterly _aware_ of them.

'You're Ludwig,' they said, and he caught a flicker of paint-stained hands to fit that musical voice. 'Ludwig Beilschmidt, the drummer.'

He turned to them, head still blurry from the drinks, but faintly, he realized that was the first time anyone had called him by his own name before his brother's.

Their eyes met and Ludwig's drumstick clattered to the bar countertop. His eyes were _gold_ , and his hair was a curling mess, and underneath his rainbow-patched leather jacket his collarbones glittered velvet. Ludwig's gaze was drawn down to them, and the tight fit of his shirt. His thoughts were all spinning slowly, drowning in that golden hopeful shade. He should say something, he should answer, but all he could focus on was this boy's _awed_ smile, and that he looked somehow _angelic_ even with dark makeup in the corners of his eyes. There was blue makeup under his eyes, and it was strangely lovely.

'You know me?' he finally murmured. Their chairs were close enough that their knees barely pushed together, and Ludwig turned so they touched more, suddenly starving for his warmth, for a hint of closeness.

'I would like to,' he said, with a little smile that knocked him breathless. Their hands lay close, close together on the bar.

'Tell me what your name is,' Ludwig said, ready to plead for it, ready to worship this. They were shoved close together in this humming city and the dark-lit bar and he wanted even _more_ , wanted it with a hunger that he must have gotten from Gilbert, so fierce and consuming it scared him.

'My name?' He blinked in surprise and looked away. 'It's not important, I don't think-'

'Please,' Ludwig said. He curled his gloved hand into a fist on the counter so he wouldn't reach out to touch him. His heart was thrumming. 'It's important to me.'

He blinked, looking shocked, explanations trailing off. 'Feliciano,' he finally said. Ludwig mouthed the word, bright on his tongue. 'Feliciano Vargas.'

'My name is Ludwig,' he said, and then remembered he didn't have to. It was odd to know that people knew him before he ever knew them. That Feliciano knew him, wanted to know him, had already thought of him- that was something unfamiliar and prickling at his fingertips.

'I saw you, tonight,' Feliciano rushed out, hands curling into his own jacket. 'And you're- you were amazing.'

'Oh.' For some reason, this felt so different than every other time someone had looked at him and said he'd had talent. This was something he wanted to hear.

Feliciano tipped his head, an embarrassed, quirking smile flickering on his lips. Ludwig found himself staring at his mouth, rubbing his thumb across his own thigh to soothe away the urge to touch. 'How long are you going to be in the city?'

 _As long as you want_ , he found himself nearly saying, and had to look away to catch his breath. 'I think we're staying tonight, and then we're going home.'

Feliciano couldn't hide the flash of disappointment, and Ludwig wanted to take back his words immediately. He knew Gilbert was the one who made the decisions, but he wanted this, he wanted to _choose_ what to do with himself. He wanted more of Feliciano.

'I know this was said to be your last show,' Feliciano said hesitantly. 'But would you ever do more?'

'I could do it during the summer,' he said. 'After that, I have college.'

His eyes widened in surprise. 'You're going into college?'

'Yes.' Ludwig raked a hand through his hair, messing up the back, ears hot. 'I think- I guess the haircut makes me look older. It does, doesn't it?'

Feliciano's hands were suddenly beside his, ruffling it into spikes and curls. He had artists' hands, and he was so _close_ that Ludwig was dizzy. He was half-leaning out of his chair to reach him, and Ludwig had to sink teeth into his own cheek to stop wanting to pull him in and feel their chests together. He looked up to the halo of fluorescent light and saw faint freckles like constellations across the bridge of his nose.

'Not older, really,' Feliciano said softly, studying him. His hands were still in his hair, painting little swirls across his temples. 'Just...good. Like you know what to do.'

Ludwig felt raw and exposed under his gentle gaze, like Feliciano could look into him and see all his fears and wants and hopes. He didn't, he wanted to say, had never known the right way to feel or think or want anything, anything except this. This felt right.

'I like your hair like this, too.' Feliciano met his eyes and abruptly jerked away, a flush spreading across his freckles and down his neck. Ludwig touched his wrist to stop him, barely daring to, but Feliciano leaned into the barest suggestion.

'I don't mind,' he said. Feliciano's eyes searched his face, wide with shock and a deep awe. The blue chalk in his hair was dusting his collar, and the blue lines under his eyes stood out. Ludwig shifted his hand to brush his jaw, fascinated by his paint.

'I didn't expect you to be...like this,' Feliciano confessed.

'Not like Gilbert?' Ludwig asked, mouth twisting slightly.

'No,' he answered immediately. 'It's just that you look different onstage.'

'I am different onstage,' Ludwig said. 'Gilbert isn't.'

'Why?'

Ludwig was left at a loss for a moment. Because Gilbert was made of hunger and stardust and black wings, all those powerful and dangerous things. He never needed to change for music so loud it rattled through your bones, but Ludwig did.

'Listen,' he said instead, turning them both towards the jukebox. It was a familiar song; _there's a starman waiting in the sky_. Ludwig took a hasty sip, trying to disguise the motion of shifting his hand closer, fingertips touching, watching out of the corner of his vision for that smile.

'It would be a shame not to dance to it,' Feliciano said. Ludwig almost coughed on his drink. There was a soft tone of amusement and hope in his voice that captivated him. He threw back the rest of his glass, stood up, and held out his hand- suddenly sure he looked ridiculous, or that he was wrong, or that Feliciano was just teasing-

He took his hand and laughed as he eagerly pulled Ludwig onto the dance floor. The music reverberated around them with the crush of bodies and heat and glitter, but Ludwig could see nothing but Feliciano, following the lines, feel nothing but their heartbeats and the way they twirled.

Feliciano took his hand as they swayed and spun. The weight of the crowd pressed in around them, and the music wrapped them all up. He was punch-drunk and dizzy in the gold and all he could think was _Feliciano, Feliciano_. Somehow, he knew that dancing this way was _dangerous_ but this could not possibly be a bad thing, could it? Feliciano was not a bad thing even if he was.

He pulled him closer for the crooning last verse and Feliciano tipped his head up, eyelashes catching the light, softly singing. Ludwig found his eyes drawn to his mouth, the curve of his neck, the radiance of him. The last seconds felt like a sort of worship.

They found themselves back at the bar, in the corner, hands still brushing.

'Why do you wear these?' Ludwig asked bemusedly, warm and loose with drink and body heat and Feliciano. 'I keep seeing people with them.'

'They're for you.' Feliciano reached up to touch the black lines under his eyes, and his mouth tipped into a little smile. 'You look good with them, really good, and...well, we're hoping we get a little of that.'

'I promise, Feliciano,' he said, feeling nearly reverent wiping the blue under one eye away, leaving the colour over the pad of his thumb. 'You don't need to worry about that.'

Feliciano looked shocked for a moment. With the paint gone, he had freckles on his cheeks as well.

And then he smiled, like sunrise, and leaned closer to wipe away one of his lines as well. His lips brushed his neck as he stood to whisper to him and Ludwig froze, heart pounding like a new music beat, barely daring to breathe.

'I think I prefer you offstage.'

He let him go, shining and wonderful, eyes and mouth crooked up in hope.

'I have to go soon, but you'll tell me if you come back, won't you?' he asked. 'I love- I'd love to see you again. On or offstage.'

He squeezed his hand one last time and then pushed into the crowd and disappeared.

Ludwig staggered out a little while later, light and floating. He found himself in front of the place they'd performed, barely registering Gilbert wrapping an arm around him. He tipped his head up to the sky.

'You look like you had fun, baby brother.' Gilbert rested his head against his shoulder. 'Not so bad, loosening up, huh?'

'Yeah,' Ludwig agreed. His thoughts were all caught up in blue paint and gold eyes. 'Where is Roderich?'

'He's at home for now. I was thinking we should get something just for us, to commemorate this,' Gilbert said. He started to walk again, and Ludwig followed. He didn't know if he could stand anymore without the wiry arm around his shoulders. 'Our first taste of freedom.'

'Like what?'

'You still want that tattoo?' Gilbert asked. Ludwig blinked up at the gold of the streetlights.

'We can have that?'

'We can have anything we want.' Gilbert suddenly threw out his arms, his expression a curious mixture of snarling and elated. 'The whole world is going to be _ours_. Don't you want that?'

'I do.'

Gilbert directed him down a different street. 'I already talked to the artists down there. How drunk are you? Think you can handle getting needled for a while?'

'I can,' Ludwig agreed.

The tattooist had deft hands and soft dark hair. Ludwig told him _cornflowers_ and he understood. He took his shirt off, laid down, and wondered if they would be able to see Feliciano's fingerprints like glowing marks all across his skin.

When he woke back up, there was a heavy bandage on his back and Gilbert was grinning down at him.

'Good man.' He carefully heaved him up and they walked back to the hotel. Gilbert watched the nightjars swoop above their heads.

'I know I said I'd let you go after this,' he said. 'But you don't really want to, do you?'

'What?' Ludwig felt like his head was wrapped in cotton.

'You love this, I know you do. The rush of it, the fact that we can be everything.' He cocked his head, smile sharp and crooked. 'Don't you want to keep performing with me?'

Ludwig's first thought was of Feliciano, and of music, and of a promise to meet again. There was a hungry glint in Gilbert's eyes he'd never understood. His chest felt tight. He just wanted to make Gilbert proud. He could do this for him. For Feliciano.

'I do.'

'I know,' Gilbert said. He stroked a hand through Ludwig's hair, a low purr in his throat. 'I'm so proud of you, you know.'

Ludwig closed his eyes, hoping, hoping those words would make everything better, like they always had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Smoke reflected in water at sundown


	3. Chapter Three

Gilbert was smoking again. Ludwig's throat felt scratchy with the smoke, and his head spun with a hangover, and his back prickled and ached. He kept his eyes shut, grateful for the dark, trying to keep his breathing steady. Roderich and Gilbert only talked like this if they thought he was still asleep.

'You're going back home?'

Gilbert laughed, the sound still low and slurred. ''S not really home anymore, is it?'

'It is for him.'

'For him, yeah.' Gilbert dragged in a slow breath. There was something rattling in it, like the dice of fate in a skull-cup, throwing them all together in some city not far enough away from home. 'Don't know why it is. God, I _hated_ that town, the only goddamn thing of worth in it was- was our mother and him, deserves so much fucking better, her and my baby brother, and I can't even give that.' His voice was building, drowning Ludwig in deepest blue, his thunderstorm energy wrapping him tight up. 'The only home I've got is you.'

'Not much of a home,' Roderich said softly. Gilbert scoffed, something oddly gentle in the tone.

'It's good enough for me. He'll find his own place. His own people, too. There was- there's this kid who wanted to see him, artist type, _worshipper_ type, maybe Lutzy found him. Just wish he'd find a girl, too.'

Roderich's voice dropped, insistent and tired. 'Gilbert.'

' _Don't_ , Roderich.' Gilbert's pace across their room quickened, voice tilting desperate. 'He doesn't need- he doesn't need to hurt the way we do. I'm his older brother, I'm supposed to keep him safe. Take care of him.'

'You can let him-'

'I promised him I wouldn't clean his blood off my hands and I'm keeping that if it kills me. I'll keep fighting, Roderich, isn't that enough? For the future?'

Roderich's voice was quiet and pained. 'One day, maybe it will be.'

Gilbert scoffed, voice gone brassy with satisfaction again. 'He'll be grateful for me telling him to keep a little quieter once he's older. Lutzy is a good kid, he'll understand why I did it.'

'Gilbert.' Roderich sounded ragged and exhausted.

'Or we'll become so fucking famous that he won't have to hide anything anymore. None of us will.' Gilbert's drunken pace was spinning and exultant, voice bright. 'We can have everything, _Princezzen_ , we just have to keep touring. He agreed to it, just like I said he would.' Ludwig heard the soft creak and dip of the bed as Gilbert sat down and leaned over him, hand barely brushing his hair, pushing it back out of his face. 'He's a good kid, Roddy, and this'll give him a lot more than _college_ in some place out of the goddamn _country_ , thousands of miles away. It's not like I forced him into anything.'

Silence. The weight on the edge of the bed abruptly lifted.

'You think I did?' Gilbert hissed. 'I thought- God, I thought _you'd_ understand what I have to do. This is everything, Roderich. Look at us, look at him. It's going to be worth it.'

'I understand you,' Roderich said softly.

'I know,' Gilbert responded, voice gone sharp and shattered, anger gone. 'You know me better than I do.'

'Be gentle with him. Please.' Ludwig barely avoided opening his eyes in surprise when Roderich stroked his hair. He didn't catch the last few words as they both moved away again, towards Gilbert's bed. '-tell him, won't you.'

'Of course I will. Just been a little busy tour planning and everything, like usual.' The floor creaked and Gilbert's voice went rough and teasing. 'I got another tattoo. Do you want to see?'

Ludwig tried to concentrate but couldn't hear Roderich moving back to his own bed again. It was easier to drift off than force thoughts through his heavy, blurry head.

0o0o0o

Feliciano had met the drummer. He had talked with him and _danced_ with him and saw him smile.

He collapsed onto his couch, pressing his palms to his cheeks, feeling the wide smile still pulling at his mouth. Ludwig Beilschmidt. He wondered dizzily if he was dreaming. That perfect piece of time in the bar, surrounded by smoke and the glow of lights and blue eyes, didn't feel real. The only thing left to remember it by was a promise built on _ifs_ and the smear of black paint on his fingertips.

He tumbled off the couch. He had to do _something_ with this buzzing energy.

Two hours later, Feliciano was so absorbed in his painting that he didn't notice Tino was home until he tapped his shoulder. He nearly dropped his jar of paint.

'Tino?' He rubbed his eyes, prickling with exhaustion, realizing too late he'd smeared blue across his cheek again. He wiped it away. 'What are you doing?'

His friend's cheeks were flushed. 'I just got back. Why are you still up? Feliciano, it's way past midnight.'

Feliciano laughed, suddenly realizing his exhaustion. He'd been utterly caught up. 'I've just been...busy.'

'Painting?' Tino stepped around to see it, and whistled softly. 'You painted the drummer? Interesting background.'

Feliciano had painted Ludwig the way he'd looked in the club, all power and music and a deep gentleness, outlined by the gold lights. He couldn't stop thinking of him even now, after pouring all his thoughts into art. He was awestruck by Ludwig Beilschmidt.

'You missed one of his lines here.' Tino gestured under one of Ludwig's eyes, and Feliciano laughed. The knowledge of this secret, wonderful thing was bright at his fingertips.

'It's time to go to bed, you're right.'

It was strange how you could miss someone after only one meeting. Feliciano fell asleep dreaming of blue skies.

0o0o0o

Ludwig plugged in his Walkman as he packed up the instruments. The physical work of moving the boxes out to the truck and the steady thump of music thrumming through his arms together was a familiarity he hadn't had for a while. So much had changed.

He set the last box in the truck and went inside to find his brother. He had been smoking again.

'We're ready,' he called, squinting into the sudden dark of their motel room. Gilbert whirled around to face him, face flushed, stepping away from Roderich, who looked equally as flustered, trying to get up from his chair. His hair was mussed.

'I thought you were outside,' Gilbert said, jerking his shirt up over his shoulder. Ludwig pulled off his headphones.

'I was. I'm done packing.'

'Oh.' Gilbert raked a hand through his hair, trying to calm the worst spikes, and grinned back at Roderich, mouth twitching into a snarl. 'Well, until the next time, Roddy, huh?'

Ludwig nodded to him. 'We'll see you soon.'

Gilbert lingered for a moment in the room, watching Roderich, before he followed Ludwig to the truck. He roughly kicked the engine into gear and turned the music up until it almost hurt, until Ludwig reached to turn it back down. Gilbert didn't seem to notice, hands digging deeper into the wheel, accelerator to the floor.

'Fuck,' he hissed, slamming his palm on the dashboard, the truck jolting sideways. 'Fuck! God, I'm such an _idiot!'_

Ludwig grabbed his shoulder. 'Focus on the road!'

Gilbert took the wheel again and pressed harder on the accelerator. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, the engine screeching faster.

Ludwig finally hauled back and sank a punch into his jaw, Gilbert's head snapping sideways, the truck skidding to a stop.

'What is _wrong_ with you?' he shouted. Gilbert stared at him, fingers slowly tracing the bruise on his jaw. Ludwig curled his hands into fists, the knuckles on one hand aching.

'What's wrong?' Gilbert repeated, voice suddenly high and curious. His eyelids fluttered. Ludwig's stomach twisted.

'Trade places with me,' he said. 'I'll drive.'

Gilbert followed his instructions with uncharacteristic obedience, quietly sitting in the passenger seat. Ludwig started the truck again, head hurting.

'What did you take?' he asked. Gilbert stared out the window, fingering his bird necklace.

'I only smoked one joint.' His head tipped backwards. 'Made a mistake. Talked to Roddy.' His eyes slipped closed.

Ludwig turned away from him and stared out the windshield towards home, towards a familiarity that had never felt further away.

He helped Gilbert home and left him on his couch. The bruise was flowering over his jaw, stark on his pale skin. It was hard to look at him.

Walking back home felt surreal. Ludwig felt indescribably changed, and yet home was normal. He opened the door, and there was the table and the dishes and him, a ghost in the middle of it all.

He went upstairs and curled up under his threadbare blanket, wishing for tomorrow, wishing for _gold eyes and dancing offstage and_ -

He laid there and only came back to himself when his mother came back too, bringing a piece, a fragment of something that might be safety. Safety, even though that had never really existed for him as long as Gilbert had.

0o0o0o

Back home, life was different. People _watched_ as they walked down the street, whispered and stared at their lives. Gilbert shone in it, thrived in it like he always had. Whenever he grinned back at a shy group of girls peering at them from across the road, they giggled. Some of them wore paint under their eyes.

'So, you're going for the strong and silent look,' he ribbed after the girls had left. His bruise shone on his jaw. Ludwig shrugged, looking away again, resisting the urge to touch the tender spot on his back where his tattoo was still healing, needing to feel the pain in sympathy. Everything felt different, a blazing blue streak down the middle of their little town, and Ludwig was raw with change, always changing too fast and too much.

'Why does it matter?'

'All this potential and you're not even using it.' Gilbert nudged him again, harder. 'What's the point of being the best drummer in America if you're not even going to reap some of the benefits?'

'The benefits are that I can go to college,' Ludwig lectured him. Gilbert looked up at him, eyes glinting and hard.

'Oh, baby brother, _there's_ your problem. You never think big enough.' He suddenly jumped up on the nearest bench, teeth bared, every harsh and sparing line of him gilded with the summer sun. He threw out his arms, staring down the street. 'What's the thing you want most in the world?'

Unbidden, he thought of Feliciano, of the exact gold shade of his eyes and his shy, awed smile, and the way he'd looked dancing-

'I don't know,' he managed, forcing the thought away. He'd been thinking too much of Feliciano asking if he would tour again. He accidentally caught the eye of one of the girls, and she smiled back. He stared at the ground instead.

Gilbert snorted, eyeing the girl. 'Well, you can have it. Anything you want. This'll give you things a hell of a lot better than anything you'd ever get in _college_.'

'I want to go to college.'

'So did I. You'll sober up soon.' Gilbert began to walk along the curb of the nearest flower bed, arms extended like wings. Ludwig squinted up and watched him first balance and then run, a rough laugh bursting out, delighted and satisfied. He finally stopped at the end of the street to look at Ludwig, poised and perfect, eyes catching the low sun. 'Our tour is next week, it'll be a little longer. I'll take care of you. Keep practicing.' He twisted to face the sun, body drawn up as if he was about to fly. 'Come get me at ten, won't you? I'm going drinking in the city with Toni and Francis.'

'I will,' Ludwig said, but Gilbert had already turned to keep running.

He walked home, keeping his eyes on his drumsticks flipping through his fingers rather than look at the people that knew of him. The sun was painting the city gold again.

Home was unchanged. Ludwig dropped his jacket on a chair and sat down. He could still see his piles of college pamphlets, but he was _tired_ tonight. He felt out of place here, older and far too young at the same time.

'Ludwig?'

He startled, clattering up from the table as his mother walked in. He stared at her, seeing nothing but the walls of the house and his own paint and music and the ink in his skin, and suddenly realized what Gilbert had meant by being claustrophobic in a town. He couldn't breathe here, in a place this saturated with his brother.

'Did you hear about the concerts?' he asked, his voice and the question there feeling alien and strange in his throat. His mother laughed and turned to the sink.

'I saw the papers. You boys looked like you had fun.'

Ludwig jerked his chin, head spinning. The house was too small and too empty at the same time. He didn't know how he fit into this life anymore.

He muttered some excuse, wrapped himself back in his jacket, and stumbled out the door to follow his brother's footsteps one more time. He knew it would be easy to find Gilbert, but he didn't want to, not yet. Surely it would be easy to think of something else tonight

The city had always felt huge and sprawling to him, but not anymore. The city he'd met Feliciano had been a terrifying, exhilarating place. This was home: familiar, claustrophobic, and scarred all over by Gilbert.

He didn't know what drew him back to the bar where he'd once performed until he sat down at the counter and the bartender stopped in front of him, hands on his hips. He looked up, flustered into silence at the sight of green eyes and black paint like his. It was early- the only sound was a group in the far corner, talking over drinks.

'We heard about your tour here,' he greeted warmly. 'It seems you and your brother are making a name for yourselves.'

'Gilbert says that too.' He was distracted by the paint, and how much it reminded him of Feliciano.

'Your singer? He spoke about you. It's Ludwig, correct?'

Ludwig nodded. 'What did he say about me?' he ventured.

The bartender looked lost in thought for a moment. 'That you were a good kid, who had a lot of talent. I agree.'

'Thank you.' Ludwig nodded at him. 'I noticed you were wearing the paint.'

The man chuckled. 'Yes, I see people in here with those all the time now. You've got a following.'

The words reminded him of the girls, and of Gilbert, and the weight of the expectations that came from both. The only person he'd ever loved seeing the paint on was Feliciano- and God, _Feliciano_ was a tangled mess of guilt he couldn't understand, and _want_ , and soft hope he didn't know if he was even allowed to have.

And yet this bar and this man felt familiar in a safe way nothing else in the city did. Ludwig wondered how to phrase his question, if he even should put words to the feeling he had with Feliciano. He wished he still had his drumsticks with him. They were comforting. Onstage, he was someone different, someone braver.

'I met someone,' he said, curling his hands into fists. The man raised an eyebrow in a casual motion, but his body suddenly tensed as if ready for a fight.

'If it's girl problems, you might want to talk to your brother about it,' he said, with every air of being casual save for the sudden steel in his eyes. Ludwig held their gaze. That same steely, fearsome will to have this, to let this happen, was rising in his own blood.

'What if it's not?'

The man abruptly glanced towards the corner table, still absorbed in their own conversation, and slid Ludwig a beer.

'I normally wouldn't let you drink if your brother wasn't around,' he said. The unspoken _however_ hung in the air. He looked older, suddenly, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes.

'I understand.' Ludwig's heart was thudding in his ears. This felt forbidden, and dangerous, and like all the sadness and anger he could see in this man could be his, and yet there was something powerful here.

'I have lived with my...partner for many years,' he began slowly. 'I have seen a lot. You learn to make your own happiness. There is happiness in this,' he said firmly. 'This love is good, and it is something beautiful. But things will be difficult. People will hate you for love, and they always have. To hate love, isn't that the strangest thing.' His mouth twisted bitterly.

'Will it always be like this?' Ludwig asked quietly. The man pressed his lips together.

'Not for you, I hope. Some time in the future, your world will be better for people like us.' He smiled, the weight of too many histories of pain and hope written in the lines of his face. 'We live on.'

This birthright, all the fear and mourning for a happiness stolen away- that was not what he'd had with Feliciano. It couldn't be.

'It will get better,' he insisted, gripping the bottle tighter. 'It has to.'

There was a long pause before the man sighed and nodded.

'We live on,' he repeated. He clapped Ludwig on the shoulder. It was a brief, fleeting moment, but it was connection, it was safety, a breath of _knowing_ each other in shared pain and hope. 'Keep your heart safe. Sometimes it will hurt, but it's better than what will happen to you- to both of you if you don't.'

'I understand,' Ludwig said, even though he didn't know if his heart had ever been his own. He felt like every moment he'd just been depending on something, the future or his brother or music. He finished his drink. The man leaned back, staring away, somewhere into the past.

'It's good to see someone like you making a name for yourself,' he added. A bitter smile pulled at his lips. 'Someone like us.'

 _Us_. That terrifying, steadying connection, that suddenly this history of love and hate and fear was his to shoulder. Ludwig lifted his head.

'I'll do my best to make you proud.'

'Make yourself proud first,' the man said, his smile deepening. 'You're a good kid, your brother was right about that.'

The world had to get better, for Feliciano if nobody else. Ludwig would do anything, take on any pain to make sure of that. He wanted to keep him safe no matter what.

He walked out and found his brother in a dark, neon bar, surrounded by a group of people in bright colours. He looked uncharacteristically serious. When he sat down, their conversation abruptly cut off, Gilbert staring at him in horror.

'What the hell are you doing here?'

'You said to come find you.'

Gilbert glanced at the people around him, mouth curling into a snarl. 'Fine. Come on, we're leaving.'

'Why can't we stay?'

'This isn't a place for you,' Gilbert said shortly. He forced Ludwig's gaze to the floor, hand heavy and harsh against the back of his neck. 'You shouldn't be here. Ever.'

Ludwig knew better than to argue, even if he didn't understand. He kept his eyes down until Gilbert had shoved him out the door and stalked off down the street. Antonio threw him a sympathetic glance, hurrying to catch up to where Francis was trying to talk to Gilbert. He hunched his shoulders and turned away from them both.

He bought Ludwig a drink in a different bar, glaring at all three of them.

'You _never_ go there,' he said. 'Never. Do you understand me?'

'Why?' Ludwig challenged, gripping his drink tighter. Gilbert's influence, so bright and harsh and ready to turn a crowd into a raging thing at his command, felt heavy on his shoulders, spilling out into this place.

Gilbert's eyes narrowed. 'You want to know why? Because if people see you there, they're not going to accept that you're just _buying a drink_.'

'What else would I be doing?' Ludwig asked, annoyed.

Gilbert cast a dark glare at Francis and Antonio and shoved back his chair. 'I need a smoke. What happens there will never be any of your business, Ludwig, so keep out of it.'

His friends watched him go. Ludwig sipped his drink, the sting of alcohol burning his throat. Francis and Antonio were wearing strange clothes, and there was multicolour paint left behind on Francis' cheek under his eye, where a hasty smear hadn't wiped it all away. Ludwig nodded to it.

'What's that?'

His hand jumped to the colour and immediately thumbed it away, hand curling into a fist. 'Just some paint.'

'Why are you wearing it?' Ludwig persisted. Francis glanced at Antonio and hurriedly sat forward.

'There's a group. We fight for equality. All three of us used to be involved in a wing of it together, back when Gilbert was still in college. He was always the loudest, though.' Francis winced and touched his cheek, sympathetic in pain, eyes liquid and shadowed. 'You must have heard of it. It's the reason they threw him out.'

He hadn't thought of that night for years. Thunder and fighting and danger was always Gilbert's in his mind. All Ludwig had was summer nights and too many dependencies.

He thought of the bartender with his pained eyes and of _Feliciano_. Fighting for equality- that was worth something, wasn't it? That would bring a better future for them. He leaned forward to lock eyes with his brother's best friends.

'Let me help.'

Francis jolted back. Antonio exchanged a wary glance with him.

'You know what happened to Gilbert,' he began. 'I don't think it would be wise for you to do the same.'

Ludwig snarled. 'I'm _not Gilbert_.'

Antonio didn't speak again, only eyed him with the same caution he did with downed birds and Gilbert when he was drunk or angry. Ludwig hated it, he hated all of it, that people looking at him only saw his brother, painting both their lives with gasoline and mistakes.

'I'm going outside,' he said coldly, shoving his chair back and stalking away.

Outside, Gilbert's face was illuminated by the cherry glow of his cigarette, fingering the ragged edge of a photograph. There was a dark scrawl on the back that he recognized. Roderich's photograph.

'Gilbert?'

His brother snapped upright, shoving the photo into his pocket, hand jumping to his hip before he recognized him. He didn't relax, never had and never would, but the sudden bloody fire in his eyes simmered back to a faint glow.

'I thought you were inside,' he rasped, nodding him closer.

'I was.' Ludwig leaned against the brick wall beside him. Side by side, he could see every place they matched, Gilbert a sharper, harder, _better_ version of his teenaged gawkiness, the steel to his stone.

'Well, enlighten me. Why aren't you anymore?'

'The air is better outside,' Ludwig lied, resisting the urge to cough. He hated it when he smoked, and even more since their drive back home.

'And?'

'I need a drink.' He shouldn't have left it unfinished on the table. Alcohol soothed the sharp edges of his brother's blood-bright colours into something he could breathe through.

Gilbert's mouth twitched and he passed him a card from his pocket. 'Here. I got it made for you.'

Ludwig turned the fake ID over, apprehensive. 'Will it work?'

'It better, for what I paid for it.' Gilbert slapped his shoulder. 'Do me a favour and take a girl out with it, hmm?'

'I'm not interested,' Ludwig muttered, tucking the card away.

'Don't talk like that. You should be, it'll be better for you that way.' Gilbert finished his cigarette, wolf eyes glinting at him. 'Don't make my job of taking care of you any harder than it already is.'

A scrap of the conversation he'd caught that one night tumbled through his head again. 'I didn't ask to be _taken care of_.'

'Nevertheless.' Gilbert pulled out his lighter and another pack, grinning at him. 'It's my duty as your big brother to make sure you never worry. Head _up_ , shoulders back. We're making a name for ourselves, and we're gonna have the world.'

0o0o0o

'There's another _Werkenvogel_ tour.'

The words barely registered for a moment, and then Feliciano dropped his paintbrush and raced towards his friend, almost stumbling over himself in his eager shock.

'Really?'

'I thought you might want to know, seeing as you've painted nothing but their drummer for two weeks.' He looked pointedly at Feliciano's latest work.

Feliciano brushed it away. 'When is it?'

'Their first city is ours, this weekend. I'm guessing you'd like to come with me again?'

'Absolutely.' Feliciano threw his arms around him. 'Thank you so much.'

'Don't thank me for it. Berwald's friend knows _everyone_ in the scene, it feels like. One of his friends in some little town told him that _Werkenvogel's_ singer confirmed they'll keep touring.'

'Who's Berwald?'

Tino glanced away with a smile, hand going to the _Dorothy_ button on his jacket. 'A friend. I met him at the last concert.'

Feliciano smiled. 'How?'

'He caught me in the mosh pit.' Tino grinned and held out a photograph. Feliciano took it and recognized the man who had been in front of them at their first concert. He was smiling slightly.

'I'm glad,' Feliciano said, handing it back. Tino glanced at his painting, artful with the same adoration, and his smile widened.

'Maybe I will get you one of these,' he said, flicking the pin on his jacket.

Two days later, Feliciano found a battered book laying on his bed, and sank into a breathtaking history of people who loved like he did, of the fight for justice, of their hope and the endless future. Tino smiled when he saw him reading it, and Feliciano nearly threw himself at him, tears stinging his throat.

'Thank you,' he whispered. His friend held him closer, and he swallowed back tears over overwhelmed, wonderful _love_. 'Thank you.'

'It's okay,' Tino soothed, letting the choked, laughing sobs wrack through him. 'I was the same way, the first time I read that.'

They sat on the bed together and Feliciano clutched the precious book closer.

'The only problem now is knowing if the other man is this way, too,' Tino joked, hand drifting to his jacket pocket where Feliciano knew he kept Berwald's photo.

'Is he?'

'He is.' Tino grinned, endlessly pleased, eyes soft with love. 'What about you? Do you know anyone?'

'I know someone,' Feliciano said, remembering exactly how he'd dreamed of their dance. His face heated. 'I don't know if Ludwig's the same way-'

'Ludwig? The _drummer of Werkenvogel?_ ' Tino laughed apologetically. 'I think the only thing he loves is the stage.'

Feliciano smiled, warm with secrets. 'I bet he's different offstage.'

Tino left to call Berwald again and Feliciano collapsed onto his bed, smiling so wide it hurt. He'd known of this kind of love, but this was something he hadn't even known he'd needed. This was the ability to reach back into the past and touch hands with other men and know he was not alone, know that he could say _I am like you, I exist, we exist. We have always existed_.

0o0o0o

Gilbert looked endlessly at ease onstage, swaggering around, slipping into this fierce, thunderstorm version of him, all lightning and silvery grins, as perfectly like a second skin. Maybe, Ludwig thought, maybe this was how his brother was always supposed to look, and that he'd never been alive until now.

He thought of how utterly charged and wonderful dancing with Feliciano had been, and wondered if he would be watching. He shook it away for now and went to put on his paint.

He tapped through the beat of one of their new songs. Gilbert put down his guitar and ran over, brandishing a decal of a bird, wings spread. It somewhat resembled the bird on his necklace.

'Can you put this on your drums?'

'Is that our logo?' Ludwig asked, unable to keep himself from smiling. 'Aren't shrikes grey and white? This one is yellow.'

'Shut up. This one is awesome, and you and Roddy just don't get it. He didn't even let me make matching shirts for us.'

Ludwig made a mental note to thank Roderich the next chance he got. 'Fine, give it here.'

Gilbert beamed as he put the decal on. He looked genuinely, unabashedly happy, in a way Ludwig had seen only a handful of times.

'We're going to become the best, baby brother,' he said, picking up his guitar again and working through a slow melody. 'You know why? It's because we _have_ to. Because you deserve everything.' He ruffled his hair again, eyes shining. 'I'm so proud of you. You know that, right?'

Ludwig's throat was too thick to respond. He nodded, looking back at his drumsticks, pulse hammering. He wanted his brother to always be happy, the way he only was onstage.

Gilbert got into position and shouted for the curtain to rise, and Ludwig's swirling thoughts fell away under the weighted rush of music and the wonderful colour of them all, blending into a supernova onstage.

0o0o0o

Feliciano waited at the bar, a drink in his hands, twisting the glass around and around on the countertop. There was sweet smoke in the air and the mahogany was slightly sticky under his fingertips. The bar felt like the breaths before summer storms, heavy with rain and heat.

Someone brushed past him, gloved knuckles grazing his bare arm and sending lightning sparking up his spine before they sat down next to him. Feliciano made himself wait a half heartbeat as they motioned for a drink, trying to calm his fluttering heartbeat and his words before he turned to look.

'Feliciano Vargas,' Ludwig greeted, eyes gleaming in the half-dark, jacket rumpled around his broad shoulders. His hair was slightly ruffled, the black lines under his eyes smeared, and he was breathing harder.

'Ludwig,' he said, unable to keep his eyes off him. He had looked amazing onstage, as usual, but here, there was something that set him ablaze.

'So you do remember me.' Ludwig's mouth twitched at his own joke, and the flick of canines made Feliciano go breathless.

'Of course I do. I'm surprised you remembered me, or that you came back here.'

'You're someone worth remembering, Feliciano.' Ludwig settled forward against the counter, absentmindedly rolling back the sleeves of his jacket. After a moment of frowning, he pulled one of his gloves off with his teeth before brusquely tucking them both away.

Feliciano _stared_. His jacket suddenly felt far too warm. Ludwig had broad, muscled forearms, the tendons shifting liquid under his skin as he wiped away the lines under his eyes. Without them, he looked more like himself, like Ludwig without the fire and wings of the band. Someone both powerful and gentle.

'I'm sorry for showing up in my stage look,' he said. 'I ran here.'

'You still look amazing.' Feliciano caught himself too late, but Ludwig just smiled, softened by the lights.

'You do, too.' His gaze flashed for a moment to his shoulder and collarbone, and Feliciano shivered. It felt nothing like the way he'd been looked at by people before. This was nothing but gentle heat.

'What kind of college are you going to?' Feliciano asked. Ludwig paused for a moment, suddenly looking tired, the lines around his eyes deeper.

'Physics, maybe. Or engineering, I'm good at it. There's a program, but it's out of the country, and Gilbert doesn't like that. He doesn't like the idea of me moving away from home at all, even though it didn't seem to matter when _he_ did it.' He rubbed his temples. 'I don't know anymore. I thought I did.'

'Are you okay?' Feliciano asked. Ludwig shook himself out, raking hands through his hair, and offered him a slight smile.

'Of course.' His eyes had a brittle look for a moment before they softened. 'It'll work out in the end. Gilbert promised me we're only doing music for the summer.' He nodded at him, face lighting with a hidden hope. 'Tell me about yourself?'

'I'm going to college too,' Feliciano said. He hesitated. He didn't want to ruin this with all his messy family history. Ludwig didn't need to worry about him, Feliciano shouldn't tell, but those blue eyes and the pull in his chest had a way of making him want to tell everything. He swallowed it back for now. 'Art college.'

'It would suit you,' Ludwig said, glancing at him and the paint smears on his clothes. Feliciano's cheeks felt warm, and he couldn't help smiling for a moment before it dropped away.

'The only problem now is paying for it,' he joked, trying not to think about the pages of calculations laying on Tino's table at home, showing how far he still had to go. Not now, he wouldn't think of that now. 'So, what's your glamourous rockstar life like?'

'It's wonderful onstage, with the music and the lights and the cheering. It's like a thunderstorm. I will say it is...strange for me to see people to recognize us. Gilbert loves every moment of that, of course, because the girls back home love him even more.' He glanced up, holding Feliciano's gaze for a long, heated moment, his hands knotting tighter. 'I...don't care much for that part.'

The breath suddenly rushed out of him, so _relieved_ and exhilarated and dizzy, weeks of not daring to hope suddenly blooming into possibility. 'Oh, _Ludwig_.'

'Gilbert says I should.' Pain and anger flickered through his eyes for a heartbeat, and then it was gone, faded back, as he looked at him again, full of the same lonely, wondering hope Feliciano had seen reflected in the mirror a thousand times. 'What about you?'

'I like girls. And...and you, too.' It was hard to admit the full truth yet, but Ludwig understood. Feliciano reached for him and Ludwig took his hand, pressing it to his lips for a heartbeat. He moved to let go immediately, looking shocked at himself, but Feliciano held on.

'Do you want to go somewhere?' he asked, hoping his voice didn't shake. Ludwig followed him outside and they stared up at the wide sky for a moment, drinking in the velvet blue-black. Ludwig bought them both beers and they made their way to the green space. When they stopped, he twisted the can in his hands, brows furrowing as he looked down at it.

'I don't know if you like these. I have an ID now. Fake.' His face twisted slightly. 'My brother got it for me. I may as well…'

'I like this.' Summer was hot and the sweet alcohol was sticky and thick, wrapping around them both. It was surreal and enchanting to be standing there in the moonlight with Ludwig.

He still had a furrow in his brow. On impulse, Feliciano reached forward and smoothed it out with his thumb, and Ludwig grabbed his wrist for a moment, eyes going wide with shock. Feliciano felt his face heat.

'Sorry.'

'No, no. It's fine.' He apologetically let go, their hands lingering together for a long moment. 'Thank you.'

They wandered the paths, and slowly the tension sapped from Ludwig's broad shoulders. He looked calm, and almost playful when Feliciano's drinks started to catch up to him and he had to lean against him. All he could focus on was the wonderful little quirks of his mouth and the glimmer of his eyes as they sprawled out on a bench together. He settled against his shoulder, and Ludwig's hand brushed through his hair.

'I love how you perform,' he whispered, slowly drifting in the moonlight and warmth. Ludwig's cheek rested against his hair and he felt a arm guide him closer so he didn't fall off the bench.

'I'm glad,' Ludwig said. There was something sad and devoted in his voice. 'I'd perform for you, always. If you wanted.'

Feliciano tried to catch the thread of sorrow but it was gone before he could wrestle words into place to ask about it. 'Don't you perform for yourself?'

'No,' he answered immediately, and then growled under his breath. 'No. I don't mean that, it's not like that. Gilbert knows what's good for us. He's just busy…'

'Is he?' Feliciano did his best to sit up, and Ludwig helped him. He had beautiful eyes, almost glowing blue in the streetlights. There was a furrow between his brows again. He looked lost, and sad. He wanted to help him, somehow. Ludwig should never look like that.

'I think- I _know_ he is. Gilbert wouldn't lie to me.' Ludwig blinked out of it and caught Feliciano before he almost tipped off the bench again, his frustrated, _lost_ expression melting into something that made Feliciano's heart beat faster.

'Ludwig.' He touched his cheek, trying to focus, gone breathless at his sharp features. _You're beautiful_ , he wanted to say for a moment. 'You should perform for yourself. You deserve it.' He swallowed, pulse fluttering. His head was full of hazy, wonderful emotion. 'You deserve everything.'

Ludwig turned to push against his hand, lips grazing the palm. Feliciano shivered. Slowly, hesitantly, Ludwig pulled him into his lap, hands brushing his sides like Feliciano was something precious, a sculpture of glass. Feliciano had never felt more alive than from where they met skin on skin.

'I should be saying that to you,' he said. Under his gaze, Feliciano felt raw and open and completely _adored_.

'Will I see you perform for yourself one day?' he asked, leaning down to press their foreheads together. Ludwig's grip tightened to keep him steady, fingers patterning out a drum beat against his ribs, calling to his heart.

'You might,' he offered with a slight smile before his face reddened and he pulled back. 'I don't mean that you need to attend all my concerts.'

Feliciano laughed. 'And what if I want to?'

He still wouldn't meet his gaze, but Feliciano caught the edge of his pleased smile. 'I can cover room costs in other cities if you ever come. There's a lot of concerts, though. Won't your family worry?'

If they could only see him now, Feliciano thought, dressed in glitter and talking to this beautiful boy, _happy_ as he was. Ludwig cupped his jaw and drew it up, concerned, and he let go of that worry.

'They won't mind what I'm doing,' Feliciano said. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. This was something he wanted, enough to chase it. They could be happy doing this, couldn't they?

He leaned down to rest his head against Ludwig's shoulder, feeling safe and hopeful, aching for closer, closer still. It was okay. They'd have time to figure everything out. 'It'll all be okay.'

0o0o0o

Ludwig was happier than he'd ever been before. There was thunderstorm music every night and Gilbert was in a perpetual good mood, prancing about and goading them both to go drinking with him, or to explore the cities. He looked relaxed and carefree, the lines around his eyes etched there by laughter instead of stress. Roderich seemed happy as well, and a fierce energy always snapped between him and Gilbert. They felt like a family.

But the best part was that Ludwig had _Feliciano_.

He ran to him after the concert, easy and _happy_ , and it was so hard not to pick him up and twirl him and hold him close. Feliciano was sunlight and gold and wonderful things, bright and laughing, and the best parts of his life were when he was walking with him after dark, nuzzling close and whispering teasing secrets. He'd finally taken off his bandage, and stared at himself in the mirror for half an hour. Touring had carved him anew, sculpted from energy and lightning and _gold_ , with cornflowers across his back. Gilbert hadn't worn a shirt all day, showing off the new eagle on his back, and even Roderich had admitted it suited him, running careful fingers along the dark feathers.

'I've got something to show you,' he whispered, leading him to the greenspaces they frequented. He was warm and loose with performance and the taste of soda on his lips, and the summer air was full of heat and fireflies and _Feliciano_.

'This must be important, you look excited,' he teased. Their hands brushed together and sent lightning racing up his spine.

'I am,' Ludwig admitted. 'I'm happy.'

Feliciano beamed. 'I'm happy, too.'

They laid down and Ludwig carefully took off his shirt. Feliciano stared, and he moved to cover himself again, suddenly realizing how strange that was.

'I should have taken a picture of the tattoo,' he muttered, reaching for his shirt, face aflame, but Feliciano caught his hand. His eyes were wide and _worshipful_ and Ludwig's breath caught.

'Ludwig, you look... _really_ good,' he murmured, fingers tracing up his muscles, along all the lines of too long working out, too long not knowing what to do with himself. Under his hands, Ludwig felt right for once. His artist's hands mapped up his chest, resting over his heart and making him groan, biting into his lip.

'Feliciano…' he warned, not knowing what he warned for, only that they were close to some sort of wonderful breaking in this summertime dance.

'You said...you said you had a tattoo?' His eyes were full of heat and wonder.

Ludwig turned around. Feliciano's touch was light against the cornflowers, as gentle as if they were real.

'Cornflowers,' he said softly. 'They suit you. They match your eyes.'

His hands traced around his back and up to his jaw, brushing away the last of his stage paint. Ludwig kept his gaze on his deft hands. His heart was pounding. He _wanted_ Feliciano. It filled him with so much guilt and so much adoration to even think of that, and so he didn't move until Feliciano leaned closer.

'Ludwig,' he whispered, and he raised his eyes, drinking in the bright gold of him, the constellations of freckles on his cheeks. He wanted to thread his hand into his soft auburn curls, he wanted to have him closer, closer. 'You're beautiful.'

'I should…' He was taken _breathless_ by him, this beautiful artist. 'I should be saying that to you.'

Feliciano laughed, choking and wonderful, and the stars shone, and slowly Ludwig leaned forward and their mouths met. He was sweet, and gentle, and utterly _Feliciano_ , and Ludwig was alive, alive, alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: City birds swooping through the streetlamps


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by qiyirie at the end.

'What are you dreaming about, baby brother?' Gilbert asked, leaning forward across the drum set. Ludwig jolted out of his memory- the taste of soda on Feliciano's lips and the feel of his hair and how his _mouth_ had looked and-

-and the horrible aching _guilt_.

'Nothing,' he said abruptly. Gilbert sat back, eyes gleaming. He was wearing war paint today, bright bloody red, smeared in jagged dripping lines below his eyes.

'Girl trouble?'

That shook a rough laugh out of him. 'No.'

'You need to get into _some_ trouble.' Gilbert lit a cigarette, his gaze pinning Ludwig in place. 'Get into a fight. Get with some girl. It makes life easier.'

It would make him more like Gilbert. Maybe that would be easier. Ludwig pretended to agree, and was grateful when the curtain rose.

Even under the rush of music, he couldn't stop wondering if Feliciano was watching, or if he'd broken what they'd had, the best thing he'd ever had. He'd never forgive himself if he'd ruined this, and why wouldn't he have? God, Feliciano deserved someone who didn't depend on hurricanes and thunderstorms to feel _normal_.

Gilbert's songs were always harsh, but his bitter fear twined into them and sheared the edges into jagged teeth of noise. The crowd cheered, but all Ludwig could feel was hollow, twisting anticipation. He barely registered Gilbert catching him after the show full of praise and sharp excitement, _that's what the song should always sound like_ , before he was gone, pushing his way through the crowds, searching for gold and safety.

Feliciano was waiting in the green space, staring up at the sky, clutching something. Ludwig nearly collapsed in relief, leaning against a nearby tree, and Feliciano jumped up at the sound, turning to face him.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Feliciano was outlined by moonlight and despite his twisted-up worry, Ludwig couldn't help but think that he was still beautiful, still so good. He _loved_ him, he knew he loved him, and for once he didn't fear that.

And then Feliciano took a stumbling step forward until they crumpled against each other, holding on, disbelieving and half-laughing. Ludwig wanted to kiss him again, he wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked, he wanted to mark his love into every part of him, tell him he was adored. Feliciano leaned up and pressed their noses together, nuzzling in.

'Hey, Luddy,' he whispered, mouth curving into that beautiful smile, voice trembling with tears. His eyes gleamed with starlight.

'You're not angry?' Ludwig asked, barely able to contain his disbelief at how Feliciano was in his arms again. He looked shocked.

'Why would I be?'

Ludwig mumbled some excuse and looked away. Feliciano didn't need to know how guilty he'd been, how much he'd thought loving him had been wrong. Loving him was all the good things in the world, and easier than anything he'd ever done.

'Ludwig.' Feliciano took his hand. 'It's okay. This is okay, if you want it.'

'I want you,' Ludwig confessed, half expecting to be reprimanded for it. But there was nothing here except summer and Feliciano. He smiled like sunlight and Ludwig leaned in to kiss him again, breathless and amazed by it.

When they broke to breathe, Ludwig's eyes were drawn to his mouth again, and the drag of his teeth across it. He didn't know what they were to each other, or even what he wanted to be to Feliciano, but this was good. This was enough, laying here and trading kisses beneath the stars.

When he had to go, Feliciano handed him a small, battered book.

'I brought it for you. My friend gave it to me. It helped.'

0o0o0o

He didn't remember stumbling home with a grin on his face, only that he opened the door and Roderich jerked upright from his armchair, eyes bloodshot. His smile faded.

'He's gone,' Roderich said tightly. 'Again.' Ludwig watched him disappear into the other bedroom, his warm sense of family fading, the pale streak of his older brother tearing through their life. Again.

He opened up the book. It was a history, a history of men and women who loved like he did, of hope and happiness and a past. He read about a movement of liberation, of freedom, and he felt right, and whole.

Gilbert came back hours later, more than drunk, movement loose. Ludwig caught his eyes and saw only alien hunger there. He closed the book again, somehow knowing it was a secret.

'Where were you?'

Gilbert stepped forward jerkily, his ragged hands leaving blood on the counters. 'Got in a fight.'

He sat down across from him, eyes reflecting the moon. Ludwig took his hands and did his best to clean them off. Gilbert never so much as flinched, even though Ludwig knew his hands were clumsy with the pack of alcohol swabs.

'Roderich was worried,' he said, trying to clean up the mess of blood.

'He knows I get in these fights.' He cocked his head. 'It's for you, baby brother. For all of us. The fucking _government_ won't do it, they'd let those people keep talking, keep hurting us. I'm just giving them back what they've done to so many others.'

'Who are you fighting?'

Gilbert paused. 'You don't need to worry about that.'

'Is it why you got thrown out of college?' Ludwig asked without thinking. Gilbert was on his feet in an instant, his teeth showing, sharp and streaked with blood.

'Who told you that?' he screamed. Ludwig was frozen under his coppery gaze, feeling weak and young and useless like always.

'Nobody!'

'They threw me out of college because they thought I was _dangerous_.' Gilbert snarled, and Ludwig didn't say that Gilbert _was_ dangerous. That he was a wild creature bound up in thunder and dependencies and Ludwig had spent his entire life not knowing if he feared or loved him. 'Because they wouldn't admit that there's people out there who hurt others for their love, just because they've never been challenged in their beliefs, and I was the only goddamn person who was willing to fight hard enough.' He lifted his chin. 'And it's my battle to fight. You'll keep out of it.'

Ludwig stayed there in the dark kitchen as Gilbert stormed away, touching his bruised soft mouth, thinking of the brightness of Feliciano, wondering why he'd never felt that easy, gentle kind of love before. Love was supposed to feel good, or so the book said.

0o0o0o

Being with Ludwig was _everything_. He was precise and far too deliberate with some things and sometimes Feliciano could see some deep-set fear in him, all twisted up with his fierce brother. Ludwig always spoke of him in a furious, hushed tone, full of confusion.

But he was brave and lovely and gentle, and he called Feliciano _sweetheart_ and _liebling_ and blushed in delight at being able to do so. The only times they had were stolen hours after performances, but in those times they lived and they loved and they were happy.

They laid together in Feliciano's bed, Ludwig's fingertips making little swirls across Feliciano's nape. He looked happy today, the furrow in his brow faded back. When Feliciano leaned up to kiss him, his eyes widened in delight.

'You look happy,' he explained, stroking his thumb over his jacket, where his cornflower tattoo would be.

'I am.' Ludwig smiled, looking relaxed for once. 'Summer is almost over. I'll be able to go to college.'

'You'll write to me once you're in your important engineering college?' he ribbed.

'Of course I will.' Ludwig kissed his neck quickly, and Feliciano saw his ears redden and his mouth twitch up in that lovely way between pride and embarrassment when he spotted one of the marks he'd put there earlier. They were relaxed and happy and free, and everything was perfect.

0o0o0o

His family had sent him a letter.

Feliciano didn't read more than the first line, because he already knew what it said. He'd heard all the promises and the guilt before. He _knew_ what his choice had done. He still held it, choking back tears, until the door opened and he jumped up.

Ludwig saw the letter immediately, and his brow furrowed in worry.

'Feliciano?'

'It's not important,' he said, voice breaking. Ludwig moved forward hesitantly, murmuring gentle, worried endearments against his hair. 'Just stay here with me. Please.'

He did, not speaking or pushing, but warm and steady. With him nearby, Feliciano felt like he could finally fight through the mess of emotion around his family. He might be an imperfect artist, but he felt whole around him again.

'My family didn't want to let me go to art college,' he finally confessed, tracing his finger on the curve of the soda can, the lines spooling out into the cut of Ludwig's shoulder and his eyes and his mouth. 'It was art or them. Their words.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Still, Feliciano felt the prickle of tears in his eyes, and found himself leaning towards Ludwig- his Ludwig, always strong, hoping and wanting so much, so much more.

He opened his arms and Feliciano fell into them, letting himself be wrapped up and held against his broad chest. Ludwig's heartbeat was bird-quick, and he felt _safe_ for the first time in ages.

'They shouldn't be allowed to do that,' he said quietly. Feliciano sobered at the hint of anger there. 'Nobody should _ever_ give you that kind of choice again.'

'It's okay, Luddy.'

'It is _not_.' Ludwig pulled away from him and began to pace, working himself into a fury. 'You shouldn't have to choose between your passion and your family.'

'Ludwig.' Feliciano caught his arm. 'It's okay, I promise. I made my choice. They expected things from me.' He laid his head against his shoulder and Ludwig's roiling anger, harsh and vicious as his brother, calmed somewhat. 'It's...it'll be okay one day.'

They stood there, looking out at the rain together, until Ludwig's posture bowed and broke and he pressed a kiss to Feliciano's forehead.

'I wish I could make this better.' He had beautiful eyes, even full of confused anger and fierce love. Even when he looked as brutal as Gilbert, Feliciano could never fear him.

'You already are,' Feliciano assured him, drawing him down for another kiss, and Ludwig sighed and smiled.

0o0o0o

Ever since Gilbert had started leaving at night, Roderich looked different. He'd always had a steely hard streak to him, but now he looked… different. Sad.

'Go find him,' he said, finally pulling himself away from the window that looked out on the darkened street. His eyes looked hollow and overbright. 'Please.'

Didn't he always, Ludwig thought, pulling on his jacket. He felt like he was always chasing after his big brother.

He found him smoking again, lounging across a bench, knuckles bloody, eye bright with a bruise.

'Hey, baby brother,' Gilbert said. His smile pulled at the new piercing in his lip, all his movements loose and careless. The streetlights made his eyes glow reds and golds like the ember in the pipe and reflected off his pale features, making him look even more starved than usual.

'Roderich wanted to know where you were,' Ludwig said.

'Tell him I'm relaxing. I earned it tonight.' His teeth showed, sharp with canines and a bite of challenge. 'Tell him _we're_ relaxing. You need to.'

Ludwig didn't say anything. Gilbert snorted and held out the smoking pipe. 'Go on, you can join us. This is the good stuff, too.'

Ludwig knew better than to refuse directly. The men on either side of Gilbert's shoulder were lax with the smoke as well, but if he held his ground, things could get ugly. Even worse, Gilbert would never forgive him if he incited a fight, and some part of him still desperately craved his praise as much as he loved applause, as shameful as it was. He shouldn't cave. He shouldn't obey.

'I should tell Roderich…'

'Roderich knows I do this.' His eyes were fixed now as the men sat up.

'Roderich? Your little songbird?' One of the men raised his bottle in a loose, mocking salute. 'We've all been wondering why he's in your little band. Didn't think _you'd_ need a prissy caretaker, Beilschmidt.'

At the words, there was suddenly a hungry, terrible light in his brother's eyes, his body tensing all over.

'I run the band, not either of you,' he said slowly, voice cold and hissing like the wind. 'Don't speak of what you don't understand and never will.'

The men looked away, and Gilbert grinned up at him, lips peeling back from his teeth, his eyes overbright and glassy. There was that same bitter brittleness to him, like he'd become so hard he would break.

'Come on, Lutzy, don't you want to try this?' he goaded. 'You've got a bit more _experience_ now, performing on the big stages. It's time to have some real fun. Don't you agree, _baby brother?_ '

Ludwig's hands curled into fists. Gilbert never called him those nicknames in front of people like this. For a second, he saw himself as his brother must, a stupid little _kid_ with a bit of music talent, always tagging after him, so goddamn _easy to break_ with two words.

Ludwig sat down and grabbed the pipe from his hands, heavy and loathing with his own obedience and the knowledge that Gilbert had him, his brother could do this to him and he could do _nothing_ but obey. The smoke curling out was thick in his throat. Gilbert laughed softly and relaxed again, shifting his hands to hold it properly.

'It might hurt a little bit at first, okay?' His voice was back to indulgent softness. Ludwig's chest already hurt. 'Don't cough, just take a deep breath and hold it.'

For a second, he was scared, even though it was stupid. Gilbert's eyes met his and he suddenly spun to face the other men.

'You two. Leave. I'm trying to teach my brother how to get high properly.'

They shifted, eyeing Gilbert, and he straightened up, looking dangerous, hand drifting to his hip.

'Do you want me to repeat myself?'

They dropped their gazes and turned to go. Gilbert watched them leave and his hand found the ends of Ludwig's hair.

'That's better, isn't it? Don't worry. I'm your big brother, I'm supposed to take care of you.' He adjusted Ludwig's too-tight grip on it almost gently. 'Take a small breath at first, nice and slow. I'll tell you when to breathe out. Just trust me.'

Ludwig didn't know how to do anything _but_ trust Gilbert with his entire being, blind and stumbling behind his storm wake. The soft soothe of his voice lulled him deeper, and he obediently raised the pipe and breathed in. The smoke was bitter and acrid, and he wanted to cough it back out, but Gilbert cupped his heavy hand on the back of Ludwig's neck and he fought to still himself. His eyes stung.

'There we go. Good man. Now breathe it out slow. You're doing well.' His hand stroked his sun-roughened nape, holding him carefully in place. Ludwig breathed out, fascinated by the spirals and whorls the smoke made. His head felt light after the smoke was gone, dizzy and floating and silent for once. Like this, he didn't have to think about the future, there was no _guilt_ or _right or wrong_ , or all the things he had never understood, like why he couldn't watch beautiful people simply because they were boys too. There was nothing but the smoke and the flickering lights down the street. Gilbert grinned, wolfish through the veils of smoke.

'Feels good,' Ludwig mumbled, tipping his head back. The constellations swirled in a breathtaking pattern, so many intricacies of black and blue and purple and everything in between. He didn't know why he'd ever done anything but look at the stars or Feliciano, because he looked like this angels' masterpiece too, a night sky full of freckles and stars and blue-paint wishes on the streaks of comets.

'It does, doesn't it?' Gilbert leaned back, watching him. 'It took me so long to convince Roddy to do this with me.'

'Roderich does?'

'Don't tell him I told you. He's beautiful when he relaxes, when I can finally make him smile, and God, his _laugh_...' Gilbert slowly twirled the joint in his hands, and then handed it back. Ludwig took another hit. He was floating.

'Feliciano's like that,' he slurred, the words slipping out. He couldn't think why he shouldn't say them. Everything felt indescribably _connected_ , all this love and fear and hope. 'Never seen him like this. I'd like to.'

'Feli? Your little artist?' Gilbert asked casually. That term, _yours, your artist_ , settled into his heart.

'Yeah. Mine.' Ludwig rolled over, breathing in the loamy scent of the soil, eyes still fixed on the sky. 'He likes me better offstage than onstage, and I don' blame 'em.' His tongue was heavy in his mouth. 'I'm nothin' like you.'

'You are,' Gilbert said. A hand stroked his hair, and then adjusted his Walkman, plugging in a second set of headphones and slipping Ludwig's comfortable pair around his head, familiar and soothing. The music poured out into the sky, and he faintly noticed his head being settled in Gilbert's lap. It didn't matter as much, because if music was beautiful before it was _breathtaking_ now, liquid shining lines and curves and the shimmering bronze of Bowie drawing new constellations in the sky. Music was a galaxy and his heart was lost in all of it.

'Tell me about Feliciano,' Gilbert said. There was something different in his blood-bright voice, a deep and drowning blue, but Ludwig couldn't think too much about it. He couldn't think of anything but Feliciano.

'He's beautiful,' he slurred. 'He's got gold eyes, and he wants to go to college, and I think he deserves the entire world if he wants it. He deserves to go to art college and I love him.' He paused, the words sticking for some reason in his throat, the stars going crystalline. 'I love him, Gilbert.'

Gilbert said nothing for a long, long moment, and then he let go of Ludwig and stood up.

'It's time to go home,' he said, voice blank of any colours at all. Ludwig slumped against his shoulder and staggered home with him, murmuring the end of a song, _but boy could he play guitar_ …

Gilbert left him to sleep and Ludwig heard him turn up Bowie until the strains of guitar hurt, slamming into his head like copper lightning bolts.

As he fell asleep, some strange fear itching at his fingertips, all he could think was that he still smelled like the smoke, and what Feliciano might think of him and that.

0o0o0o

When he woke, disoriented and bleary, everything came back bright and fierce again. Gilbert was stumbling around in the kitchen. He heard the rough rasp of his breathing, the dizzy lurch of his body through the mess of chairs, mumbling- _too much not enough God I wish I was enough_ \- a sorry broken prayer that choked around Ludwig's throat. His terrible energy slowed for a moment, and Ludwig barely dragged his eyes open in time to see his brother pull his cigarette from his mouth, raise his hand, swaying like a prayer for a moment before he ground the ember out into the soft underside of his forearm with a ragged half-scream, knuckles shoved between his teeth.

Someone made a low, broken gasp, and Gilbert stumbled back, the smouldering cigarette falling to the floor, staring at the door, eyes bloodshot wide, looking so _terrified_ and hopeless. Like the kid Ludwig had never known him as.

'Roddy? Oh God, sweetheart, I thought you were still asleep.'

'I was,' he said, voice wracked by pain. Gilbert opened his mouth to say more, but Roderich shook his head, pushing him towards the sink to run the burn under the cold water. His dark eyes were glassy with pain. Gilbert babbled on, pressing their foreheads together, shattered down to pieces.

'I didn't mean it, I promise, I'm _sorry_ , princess. I'm trying to stop. Haven't done something like that in months. Don't know what came over me. It just- it clears my head a little, and I'm not drinking so much anymore, either, promise. Really promise. It's just- that joint won't fucking let me go, and I'm so tired, so fucking _worried_ about Ludwig.' He gasped, the noise high and wondering. 'He's in love with that artist. Feliciano. I didn't think- thought he was with a girl, lovestruck the way he is. Roddy, God, _he's gonna get himself killed_ -'

'Gilbert, listen to me,' Roderich demanded, shaking hands curled into fists. 'That's not what's important right now and you know it.'

He quieted for him, the only person Ludwig had ever seen tame Gilbert's hurricane. 'I know.'

Roderich raised Gilbert's left hand to his lips, shoulders slumping.

'You're all bruised, too,' he said softly. Gilbert's fingers traced his cheek. 'You got in another fight. Wasn't it.'

'I had to, princess. And don't- _don't_ talk about Ludwig, about letting him have Feliciano. That's different from this,' Gilbert said. The water slowed and stopped, his voice quiet. 'How long have you been up?'

'I've been up the whole time,' Roderich said bitterly. 'I don't want any more of this, Gilbert.'

He took the package of cigarettes out of his jacket. Gilbert sagged in relief, his stumbling words cutting off.

'I think…' He laughed, half broken. 'I think I really do need you, like they said. I need you so much.' He lifted his head to his, and Roderich met him in a kiss.

'Promise me you won't hurt yourself this way again,' he said hoarsely. 'Promise me that, Gilbert.'

Their figures were illuminated by the moonlight, Gilbert's shattered-open expression, the way he bowed to him, head dipping, body going slack.

'I promise,' he whispered. Roderich's posture crumpled, and Gilbert held him up, hands gentle as when he touched fallen songbirds, eyes shining with a worship different than what Ludwig had ever felt on the stage or underneath the stars, only something he saw reflected in gold bright eyes. Roderich's whisper was barely a breath.

'I love you, Gilbert.' He choked back a broken noise. 'So much. Too much.'

'Don't we all,' he whispered back. 'Always too much.'

Ludwig's head felt like it would split open, spinning between flashes of senseless things- the ember in his brother's pale arm, his wild eyes, _gonna get himself killed_.

He stayed staring at the ceiling as his brother and Roderich moved away, back to Gilbert's bedroom. He'd told Gilbert. He'd told him about Feliciano, and- the knot twisted tighter in some sick comedy, he knew about him and Roderich, too, trading secrets like punches. It made sense, as much as it could.

He got up and wove outside to the nearest pay phone, the wind rustling through his hair. Feliciano picked up.

'I need to see you,' Ludwig said carefully, holding the rest of his panic back behind his teeth. Feliciano's yawn cut off in fear.

'Ludwig? What's wrong?'

Everything was wrong, and everything was his fault. 'I'll tell you when I get there.'

He was waiting when Ludwig walked up to the door, curls haloed around his head, blinking himself awake. Ludwig had a sudden urge to kiss him, and only barely managed to stop himself. Feliciano led him inside and they both collapsed on his bed. 'It's really early, isn't it? I'm sorry for waking you.'

'I don't mind,' he said, cuddling closer. Ludwig couldn't stand the guilt of it, edging back, and he opened his eyes again. 'What's wrong?'

'Gilbert knows about us.' He swallowed. 'I think I told him.'

'It's okay.' Feliciano slowly wrapped his arms around him, voice a gentle soothe in his ear. 'It's okay, Ludwig.'

'I'm sorry,' he said again, hopeless and heavy. They'd never discussed being open. It hadn't even crossed Ludwig's mind that they could ever be open about this love.

Feliciano understood him, always. His touches felt like benediction, like forgiveness. Ludwig plugged in his Walkman and they listened to Bowie, curled together in bed, taking comfort in the familiarity until Ludwig knew he'd be wanted back at their motel.

Feliciano kissed him goodbye, eyes sorry and sad. Ludwig stood at the doorway with him as long as he could before he had to go.

0o0o0o

Feliciano drew Ludwig's cornflowers for his art portfolio before he sent it for application. Tino was sitting with Berwald on the couch, playfully teasing Feliciano about the man he'd painted the tattoo of. It was so full of Ludwig to Feliciano even without his face being shown, every curve of muscle, every scar. Ludwig had pointed them out, smiling a little at the one he'd received by wrestling with his dogs.

'When are you going to introduce us?'

'I bet you already know him,' Feliciano returned, barely able to resist a smile. Convincing Tino he was with someone took half a sentence. Convincing him he was with the _Werkenvogel_ drummer would be a lot harder.

It astonished him that to some people, that was all Ludwig Beilschmidt was: the drummer for the band. They didn't know about his laugh or how he loved dogs or his flickers of humour and shy, sweet love. He was amazing onstage, but Feliciano loved him breathless offstage.

0o0o0o

Ludwig had been waiting for the ruse to fall. When Gilbert stopped him in the hallway one night, all he could feel was dull resignation.

'Feliciano, huh?'

'I need to go practice, Gilbert,' he lied, not meeting his gaze.

'You can wait.'

'I'm not telling you anything about him,' he muttered. Even letting Gilbert acknowledge what they had felt like it would taint it, stain it Prussian blue and turn it into something full of expectations of a love that hurt to feel. 'Not until you stop lying to me about why you keep getting into fights.'

'I don't lie to you.'

'Tell me the whole truth.'

'Fine,' he spat. 'I'll say it. I'm a goddamn activist for people like us. That's why they threw me out. Because I was _right_ , and they were too fucking cowardly to admit it. So I _know_ , Lutzy, exactly what will happen if you're not careful, I never want to see you get hurt that way.'

'I know about your secret as well,' he defended. 'Roderich and you are...like us.'

Gilbert's anger suddenly vanished as his mouth fell open for a moment. 'Lud, that's not a secret.'

'What?'

'We've had only two beds in every place we've checked into since our first tour. How did you not-' He groaned and shook it away. 'That's not the point.'

'Yes, it is! You talk about fighting people who are against this all the time, and yet you won't let Feliciano and I be ourselves?'

'If I wanted you want to get fucking _killed_ , I would be letting you do whatever you wanted,' Gilbert hissed. 'I'm taking care of you, baby brother. If you're smart, you'll let me do what's right for us. And that means being _careful_ , which- God, I don't know if you can even do when you're in love.'

He turned and stalked away.

0o0o0o

They went back to Feliciano's city for the last few concerts in the tour. Summer was heady and thick at the final hours, and Ludwig was going to college. He had enough money for it, finally, and a little extra he was thinking of making into a present.

Gilbert was harsher and angry, stalking about and getting into so many fights. Ludwig thought of the paramedic who'd taken his pulse while Gilbert thrashed himself awake on the street under the thrall of smoke, pale and twisted. Ludwig had never been more aware of his own useless words then when he was trying to plead Gilbert back to consciousness, swallowing back his tangled emotions around that blood tie and whispering to the worker _I'm his brother, I'm his baby brother-_

Once summer ended and it was over, Gilbert would calm down and be better again. He had to. Maybe he would be better about Feliciano after they were away from the music scene. Summer would end, and everything would be okay.

One night, Feliciano didn't show up to their park. Ludwig had waited nearly half an hour, worrying that his clock was wrong, until Feliciano appeared, staggering on his feet, eyes bloodshot with pain. Ludwig jumped up, horrified.

'Feliciano?'

'I want to- I _need_ to get out of here,' Feliciano gasped. His eyes were glassy, and his hands were shaking. Ludwig pulled him close, tucking Feliciano's head under his chin and holding him until his choked noises slowed. Ludwig hurt for him.

'What happened, sweetheart?'

'Another letter. I just- I'm so stupid, I don't know why I thought I could afford to leave-'

Ludwig _hated_ hearing him talk about himself that way, this beautiful, brilliant boy. 'Feliciano, God. You're so brave to do what you did.'

Feliciano took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I want to be somewhere else,' he whispered, so brokenly that Ludwig would have agreed to anything to fix that.

'We can leave,' he said, brushing Feliciano's hair back. He no longer knew if he meant the city or their whole lives here, Ludwig's with the band, Feliciano's with his family. Always family, hurting them both worse than anything. He shook it away. 'We can go anywhere you want tonight.'

'I just want to be with you.' Feliciano rested his head against Ludwig's chest. He wondered if he could feel how his heart was sparrow-fast for him.

'We can have that.' For a moment he hesitated, his brother's declaration flashing through his mind. _We can have everything, anything at all_.

But this was different. This was Feliciano, and Ludwig wasn't Gilbert. For all his faults and flaws and mistakes, he wasn't. For once, that comforted him. For once, he felt whole and sure of himself, sure of _love_. He kissed Feliciano on the forehead, feeling his heart flutter where their chests were pressed together.

'You can have anything,' he promised.

They went to the green space again, laying down under the wide starlit sky, tucked up against each other, hands drifting.

'I love you,' Feliciano whispered. 'I'm sorry you have to know about all of this. I'm sorry everything is like this.'

'Don't apologize. You deserve better things than this.' He kissed him and tried to calm his shaking shoulders. He was so _helpless_ to fix him, to make this better, when all he had was his hands and his useless clumsy words. But he tried his best, told him all the gentle loving words he knew, touched him and soothed him, holding him close, desperate to make him better, to make all of this better.

Feliciano wrapped his arms around him and they both stilled, holding on, broken-up and lonely and scared of their own hearts for so long.

'I love you, Ludwig,' he confessed, their hearts thrumming together, head resting on his shoulder. 'I love you so much.'

Something- some last fear- disappeared. Ludwig blinked up at the night sky and found himself smiling. The stars were beautiful tonight, and he was sure that if he tried he'd find the constellations in Feliciano's freckles. They held each other, safe and warm and _knowing_ what they were for once, forever.

'I love you too, Feliciano,' he said. 'You matter so much to me, you have no idea. I want to make you happy.'

Feliciano smiled like the sun, teary and a little broken-up around the edges still, but beautiful. He kissed him, and they let themselves fall.

It wasn't perfect, their first experience, but it was _good_ , heat and slickness against his palm, Feliciano's head falling back against his jacket, spread out on the ground, open and happy and wonderful. Ludwig was so completely and utterly _gone_ for him, this artist boy of constellations and gold. He loved him, he loved him so much.

'Is this good?' he panted, between trying to press kisses to as much of his paint-smeared skin as he could while trying to keep his hand in rhythm. Feliciano nodded, one hand tightening on Ludwig's upper arm while the other pulled him down for a proper kiss. Ludwig groaned and couldn't help threading his fingers into his soft, soft hair, tasting sweet soda on his mouth.

'It's good, _God_ \- more, more.' Feliciano gasped when Ludwig pushed forward and they slid together, hot and good and God, Ludwig finally understood the truest depths of deep and craving hunger, because he wanted this, he wanted Feliciano in a way he'd never wanted anything before, here in the August heat with him gasping broken pleading words against his neck for _more_. His body tensed and he shuddered, whining _Ludwig please please please_ , and he'd forget what his God-damned _name_ was if he could hear that again.

His brother was the one who knew religion but this was Ludwig's worship, drawing that noise out of him, having this, having them both, his beautiful Feliciano giggling and wiping away overwhelmed tears and laying beside him until the stars faded lavender. His whole body sang.

'I love you so much,' Ludwig told him, kissing his palm and his soft hair, awed and so completely in love.

'I love you too.'

0o0o0o

After their last concert, Ludwig felt _free_. He leaned back against the wall, brushing a wondering finger over his paint, head light and full of colour and sound. Gilbert set down his guitar and lit a cigarette, shoulders knotting tense.

'Last concert,' he told him, and Gilbert looked up. There was no hint of recognition in his haggard face, only _hunger_.

'Last concert,' he echoed. 'Summer is over. Guess you'll be going to college, huh? Baby brother?'

He ground his cigarette out on his arm over his jacket, leaving ash on the slick leather, eyelashes fluttering. Ludwig saw Roderich's hands tighten, his elegant eyes deep-sunk.

0o0o0o

They lay together in Feliciano's basement, heavy and hot with summer and pleasant exhaustion. Ludwig slowly twirled his drumsticks, miming through the riff of _Starman_ as Feliciano painted metallic gold lines on his face to match his own. Ludwig looked happy and free. They both were.

'I heard from my grandfather again,' Feliciano said. Ludwig tensed. 'No, don't worry. He- he understands now, I think, a little bit. It's fine.' His nonno had loved art once, and Feliciano was sure that he'd be able to convince the rest of his family soon. They would be proud of him, they had to be.

He leaned up and kissed Ludwig's neck and he relaxed again, going back to his practice. 'Things _are_ turning out okay. Plus, I get to keep watching you play.'

'It won't be very good without the rest of the band,' he said absentmindedly, stroking his hair.

'What?' Feliciano asked, baffled.

'The band ends after summer is over. That's what Gilbert promised.' He glanced up over the edge of the book. 'So I can go to college, remember?'

'The paper said you'd changed your mind,' Feliciano blurted before he could think not to.

Ludwig stared at him for a long moment, and then he slowly lowered his book.

'I didn't,' he said quietly. Feliciano found himself rambling.

'I know Gilbert expects things of you, Ludwig, but if you didn't agree…' He trailed off, feeling even worse.

'No. It's not, Gilbert's not like that.' Ludwig caught himself, hands tightening into fists. There was so much pain etched into his face, carving him sparing and steely, broken-open and lost. 'He wouldn't do that, right?'

Feliciano had seen the way they twisted around each other, a storm system made something close to human. He saw how Ludwig fell into step behind him, a weapon and a trophy. He saw, even though he hated it, how much that hurricane of wild energy _hurt_ Ludwig.

He closed his eyes, heart aching for this beautiful boy who deserved freedom even more than he did.

'He already has, Ludwig.'

Ludwig let go of him. He stood there with empty, _hurt_ blue eyes, _cornflower blue_ \- staring at Feliciano like he was a stranger.

'No. You're wrong.' He cocked his head, body tensing. 'He's not making me choose, is he?'

Feliciano opened his mouth to answer, his words failing him. Ludwig stood up, eyes wild.

'Show me the paper,' he demanded. Feliciano fumbled to grab it and hand it over, and Ludwig stared at the words. His hands shook.

And then he roared, some inhuman noise more like an eagle's shriek than anything human, threw it down on the ground, and turned to run. Feliciano watched him go, breaking even more inside as his beautiful, _loyal_ Ludwig stalked away, hoping and pleading to anything listening that he would be happy, that he would be okay. He deserved it, they all deserved it.

0o0o0o

Feliciano had to be wrong.

Gilbert was- God, Gilbert was _Gilbert_ , his big brother, the pole star of Ludwig's very existence. Ludwig trusted him with everything. At least, he had once.

Ludwig knew he was good at pretending. He pretended he was just like Gilbert for so long, all harshness and power- even though he wanted this instead, wanted Feliciano, wanted this gentle, sweet kind of love. He pretended he loved the stage and fighting and brittle bravery more than anything, because Gilbert did, and he loved Gilbert-

Gilbert loved him. Didn't he?

Pretending had started to ache seven years ago, the day his brother left and never really came back. He'd been dreaming all this while about some sweet summertime of the past, some carefree years where he was happy and Gilbert was _good_ instead of _this_ , instead of this monster made of twenty-five years of never having enough.

Ludwig realized that he couldn't remember a time when any of that actually existed.

He thought of Feliciano instead as he ran. He thought of his open love and the happiness that was simply being with him. He thought of his brother's starving fears, his nightmares, how he'd been taking care of him for so long. Gilbert's life was onstage, but Ludwig's wasn't.

This wasn't new. This wasn't new. But for the first time, Ludwig found how to be brave.

He opened the door and Gilbert turned to him from where he was tuning his guitar, picking out the melody of Ziggy Stardust, mouth tilting up in that smile- that _familiar fucking smile_ , the one that meant safety and pride that Ludwig had chased his whole life, the smile Gilbert had no right to use on him anymore.

'Hey, baby brother. You're back early.' He glanced over his new paint, and raised a hand to brush his cheek.

'I am,' he said, pulling away. His hands were shaking as he threw his drumsticks on the ground in front of him, his whole body _awake_ with the thunderstorm energy Gilbert had always had his entire life, snarling and harsh and tasting like copper and the ozone of their storms on the horizon. 'When were you going to tell me that you signed us on for another _four months?'_

He had always been able to read his brother before, but suddenly every spill of emotion was gone. Gilbert's expression was nearly placid as he slowly took off his guitar, setting it aside. Every movement was so familiar, written down in Ludwig's bones every day since he'd been born. Gilbert was a part of him, the constant hurricane, and Ludwig had depended on that. He didn't know who he was without it. He didn't know how to move beyond it, and yet he had to.

'Who told you that?' he asked, voice light, looking up at him.

'Feliciano.'

Gilbert's eyes flickered, and Ludwig felt the knotted tension behind his ribs nearly snap. 'Feliciano.'

He said it like a challenge in the streets, soft and wondering, eyes full of deadly fire, and that- of all the things, _that_ was what broke Ludwig.

'You did, didn't you?' he screamed. Gilbert snarled.

'I'm doing what's best for us. You'd be fucking insane to quit right now, when we're about to become great.'

'I don't want to become great this way. I don't want to do this, Gilbert. _You're_ always the one who wanted to!'

'I'm doing what you're too weak to. You've got so much goddamn _talent_ and you won't even use it.' Gilbert looked him up and down, lip curling. 'You'll thank me for this one day, baby brother.'

'No.' Ludwig straightened, cold with rage. He was tired of being treated like a kid, tired of being Gilbert Beilschmidt's baby brother. 'I quit.'

Silence, for a heartbeat, where Gilbert's eyes went blank and hard as steel.

'No. You can't leave.' He stalked forward, teeth bared.

'I'm not going to lose my future just because _you_ couldn't ever make anything of yourself without running off to fight!'

'No. You want this, you need this, don't you?' He smiled, all brittle and _wrong_.

And then it suddenly all fell into place, the subtle and monumental realignment in his mind of this storm system that used to be a family, as perfectly as the way he'd fallen in love with better things than this. Ludwig finally saw himself as Gilbert did, and it took his breath away.

'I don't need you,' Ludwig said, voice raising to a tone he'd never heard from himself, something _powerful_. 'I'm not the one who needs this, _you_ are. You need me. None of this would have happened without me! You would be _nothing_ without me!'

Gilbert went still. His eyes were wild, unrecognizable, silvered with moonlight like night animals' were.

'No,' he said. There was an edge to his voice Ludwig had never heard directed at him, something inhuman, like that winged _monster_ of pure storm energy Gilbert became onstage had finally devoured his brother whole. His big brother, who'd always promised to take care of him. Who Ludwig had trusted entirely. His imperfect, flawed, broken-up big brother. 'No. You're wrong, you're _wrong_.'

And then they were connecting, matching blows, screaming terrible, terrible things, _worthless don't know anything don't need you anymore never needed you_ , until Gilbert slammed both his hands into Ludwig's chest and shoved him backwards. There was a streak of blood on his hands, smeared over his sharp cheekbone. Ludwig's jaw throbbed where he'd been cut, and his heart was thrumming. He was alive, and he was not scared.

'Get out,' Gilbert snarled, cold and harsh as steel. 'Get out. I never want to see you again.'

Ludwig turned and walked, head held high. The rain poured down around him, washing away the paint under his eyes, burning him anew, cleansed and ready for better things. He heard the door slam behind him, and didn't look back.

He ran, tearing away the green army jacket and laughing, laughing because the whole world was lit up beautiful and wild and free, and he was the same way.

Ludwig was _alive_ , finally feeling like there was a piece in his life, a streak of gold bright colour that was entirely his own and not marked all over by Prussian blue. He tilted his head up to the heavens, pouring rain, and felt like he was soaring, like for once he was made of more than thunder and dependencies.

Feliciano opened the door when he arrived again, eyes wide. Ludwig simply walked in, set down his dripping wet jacket, and smiled. He was raw and stripped empty of everything that had been him for eighteen years, but here in this little flat, there was a new future waiting with the man he loved.

'Are you okay?' Feliciano asked, shaking hands brushing his cheekbones and the split bruise there. 'I'm so sorry, Ludwig-'

'I'm okay, liebling,' Ludwig said, gathering Feliciano into his arms to kiss him, heart singing, singing. 'I'll be okay now.'

For the first time, he meant it.

0o0o0o

Ludwig applied for college, close to the school his brother had once gone to. It was good, better than- he loved what he did and not everyone knew him as _Gilbert Beilschmidt's baby brother_. He could talk to Feliciano and visit him on weekends, and he was _happy_.

Roderich sent him an apology letter and his drum set. Gilbert didn't send him anything.

Until one day, a heavy summer Saturday, Ludwig walked downstairs to see his big brother standing in the courtyard, whistling the birds down from their trees, smiling but looking nothing like the endless euphoria he once had onstage. There were deep lines around his eyes. He was still wearing his leather jacket.

Slowly, he stopped, and he turned. There was still something inhuman in his coppery eyes, his never-ending hunger for _more, more, more_ , but for the first time it was tempered. They watched each other for a long moment, wary, before Gilbert cocked his head.

'I missed you, baby brother,' he whispered.

'I'm not a child anymore, Gilbert,' Ludwig said. He was twenty now, and he didn't depend on his hurricane brother anymore.

Gilbert blinked, and then he grinned, eyes lighting up wild again.

'Yeah. You look good, Ludwig. Really.' He walked closer. Ludwig hadn't realized he'd gotten taller until he realized he was far more than eye level with him.

'Why are you here?'

Gilbert glanced away. 'To apologize. Me and Roddy finally met up again, and he told me what I'd done. He's right. He's right about a lot of things.' Gilbert shrugged, glancing up at him. 'I'm sorry. What I did was...really shitty. You deserved a lot better, and- God, everything that happened that summer was my fault, and I know that. You deserve better than I could ever give you.'

It was the most honest, open thing Gilbert had said to him in years, and it shocked him for a moment. Ludwig knew it showed, and he could tell Gilbert was at least a _little_ pleased, if the twitch of amusement on his lips was anything to go by. Reading Gilbert was still a part of him. His brother had forged him, but Ludwig chose his own love now.

'Thank you,' he said after a long moment. Gilbert laughed, brassy bright.

'Where's your Feliciano? I should probably apologize to him, too. Roddy said you two were still sweet on each other.'

'We are,' Ludwig admitted. Gilbert grinned.

'You did good with him. Roddy deserves someone a lot better than me, too, but he won't leave. And I love him.'

'What's he doing now? I heard he was back in music.'

'He's in my band, of course.' Gilbert rocked back on his heels, worn bird necklace swinging, offering the closest thing to a cautious look he had. 'Elizabeta's our drummer now, but she's visiting her girlfriend tonight and I was wondering if you still remembered one of our old songs. One final send off for my favourite drummer. How about it?'

'We'll see,' Ludwig said, and retreated back inside to call Feliciano and hope that maybe things were better now.

He talked to Feliciano for a long, long time. His artist trusted him to make his own decisions, to have his own future, and Ludwig trusted himself now.

He showed up on time, and Gilbert beamed when he saw him bringing his old set. He was putting on his war paint, jagged red streaks under his eyes. Ludwig didn't bother with it.

It was everything and nothing like last summer. There was Bowie and colour and Gilbert sang, proud and laughing, _boy could he play guitar!_

But for the first time, Ludwig played for himself. He loved every note and beat, proud of himself and the rushing colours of David Bowie, roaring the applause back to the crowd. He didn't need it like his brother, even if he still loved it, loved how they loved him. He was content with loving Feliciano, and how he loved him back.

Gilbert looked happy again, relaxed, _better_ backstage. Ludwig helped him wipe off the last of his paint and Gilbert chuckled, leaning heavy against his shoulder.

'I'm really proud of you.' He gently punched his chest, eyes crinkling softly. 'I wish you had a better big brother. Imagine how awesome you'd be then.'

'I think the one I have right now is the best,' Ludwig said casually.

Gilbert looked stunned for a moment, and then he laughed, delighted and euphoric and full of sharp pride again.

'I knew you'd do good, Ludwig,' he whispered. He ruffled his hair one last time, took Roderich's hand and pulled him towards the cheering crowd, laughing and lit up with storm energy.

Ludwig smiled and took Feliciano's hand as they walked back to his dorm, fingers twining together easily. They both leaned in for a kiss, sweet and gentle.

'I'm proud of you, too,' Feliciano said. 'You're the bravest person I know.'

Ludwig laughed, feeling free, and hopeful for the future. 'I should be saying that to you.'

And he would. They had the whole future together.

* * *

Art by qiyirie:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Standing outside in the rain with thunder echoing through your chest


End file.
